


We Must Not Look On Goblin Men

by shadow13



Series: The Goblin Market [1]
Category: Labyrinth (1986), The X-Files
Genre: Crossover, Fantasy, Gen, Mild Language, Mystery, Season/Series 01, Suspense, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2781476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow13/pseuds/shadow13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Federal Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully can't begin to imagine why children are vanishing throughout the country - or why no one seems to remember that they exist at all. Scully has her own theories, but Mulder is inclined to listen to the whispers of the children left behind; whispers about goblins in the night, and their King. Set in season 1, some language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Dana Scully considered herself to be a rational, logical sort of person. She got her seven hours of sleep every night; her breakfast was a grapefruit with toast most every morning; she wore very normal pant or skirt suits with very normal, low heels. Even in the heat of the moment, she could keep her head clear and her mind focused, and this had served her well in the Bureau.

So walking into the bunker-stroke-office every morning, meeting eyes with all of Mulder's crazy posters, being greeted at the start of the day with blurry, strange photos of God knew what – it could start to wear on a rational, logical girl.

So Scully wasn't in the brightest of moods when she sat down at her desk on a muggy Wednesday morning in D.C. The twenty nine year old special agent rubbed absentmindedly at her stiffened neck, flipping through her inter-office mail and just praying for one _normal_ day in the X-File unit of the FBI. One day that involved counter-terrorism and not el Chupacabra; espionage and not ESP; gang violence and not...not...goblins.

That's when Mulder walked in.

“ _Good_ morning, Scully!” he seemed to crow, stretching out the Os in “good.” “Got a great one for you.”

“Did you remember the coffee today, Mulder?” she asked hopefully. Department funds were not being allocated to replace their dead brewer. It wasn't helping Agent Scully's mood.

Without warning, Agent Mulder snapped off the overhead lights, turning on the whirring, spitting projector. The smell of hot dust filled the stuffy office, but Mulder didn't seem to mind, even if Scully did. “Social Services out of Fredericksburg notes that six year old Courtney Breckinridge has gone truant; no history of missing school before, no history of abuse in the family.”

Agent Scully ran her small hand through the soft, red bob of her hair. It was true she had been wishing for a normal case, but this wasn't necessarily what she had in mind. And God knew Mulder never made anything easy. “Doesn't sound like an X-File,” she said with a sigh, picking up a notepad to begin her own, private analysis.

“It gets better.” He slid a plastic sheet onto the screen of the overhead projector, a copy of the social worker's field notes super-imposed upon a blank space of wall in the crowded bunker. “The social worker visits the school to talk to the teacher about her absence. Teacher has no idea who they're talking about.”

Scully sat forward in her chair, blinking blue eyes. “What?”

Mulder was in fine spirits, as opposed to his female counterpart, and he gleefully switched sheets to what appeared to be a birth certificate. The name Courtney Ann Breckinridge was in prominent display. “They go to Courtney's pediatrician,” he was continuing, rubbing large, dry hands together. “No record of her ever having been a patient.”

Agent Scully flopped back against her high-backed chair with a sigh. “Mulder, I swear, if you say 'alien abduction,' before you give me my coffee-”

The threat seemed to jog the older agent's memory, and he quickly fetched one of a pair of paper cups from his cluttered desk. It did not, however, stop his excited babble. “Finally, DHS confronts the parents.”

“Where do you buy this stuff?” Scully interrupted, wincing as she drank down the foul-smelling brew. “It's like pond water warmed over a propane tank.”

“An Indian bodega around the corner,” Fox Mulder replied, digging through his manilla envelope in search of some last piece of juicy evidence.

“Okay, so DHS confronts the parents,” Scully parroted back to him with a sigh, watching as his hands worked in frantic excitement. Mulder had slid on a pair of thickly rimmed wire glasses as he flipped through his slides and pages and notes. “Then what happens.”

Mulder's un-affectionate nickname through the grey corridors of FBI headquarters was “Spooky” Mulder, but Scully had to admit he _did_ look spooky when he tilted his head up and _grinned_ at her; his rounded face was lit from below by the yellowing light of the slide projector, and his teeth almost looked pointed in sharp relief. “That's where it gets good.”

“Mulder, you're the only person I know who could look happy saying something like that.”

With another flick of a switch, the projector shut off and the elder agent turned the dull office lighting back on, sitting on the edge of his cluttered desk with one leg dangling down. “Courtney's parents, the Breckinridges? Deny ever having a daughter.”

Scully was briefly aware that her red mouth had dropped open, and she sat up a little again. “That's crazy.”

“Still doesn't sound like an X-File?” God but he could sound pleased with himself, and he ran a broad hand through the muss of his brown hair where it fell forward on his face.

“Not necessarily, no,” logical Scully shook her head, setting aside the muddy coffee to think and gesticulate. “What did they have to say about the birth certificate?”

“They agreed it was their signature, but that it must have been a forgery,” Fox replied, taking a long, satisfied swig of truly unfortunate coffee. “The hospital listed? No record of the birth.”

Dana rubbed at the round point of her chin a moment, thinking quickly and clearly. “Photographs.”

“There aren't any.”

“You're telling me that this little girl has been alive for six years and _no one_ has once taken her picture? Not even for school?”

“No,” Mulder purred, slinking off his metal desk and into a squeaky, wheeled chair, which he used to lightly push himself across the room toward his partner. “I'm saying that the photos have been erased from the memory of man.”

“How. Why. _By whom_.”

Mulder clapped his hands to his knees in giddy excitement before leaping to his well-heeled feet. “Let's find out together, Scully, huh?”

The put-upon special agent sighed, dumping the rest of her coffee into the dirt of a green-grey office plant. “Okay, Mulder. But if I'm going all the way to Fredericksburg, you're buying me proper coffee first.”

“Deal,” the agent grinned, handing the young woman her coat.

 

* * *

 

 

Traffic out of the capital was not horrendous, it being barely ten in the morning and mid-week, but it would still take them more than an hour to reach the sleepy Virginia town. It gave the duo time to think, slipping past low-slung brick buildings that slowly gave way to boggy creeks and marshy forests. Fall in the mid-Atlantic and it was damp, damp, damp. It made Scully miss her teenage years in San Diego. The wet heat penetrated everything, and Mulder had the air conditioning running full blast in an attempt to banish the muggy atmosphere of the car. Instead, it was just chilly and damp inside; no happy medium, it seemed.

“Mulder,” Scully began when she'd finished her first proper cup of coffee of the morning. “There are plenty of _rational_ explanations for this kind of thing.”

“Let me have 'em, Scully, I'm all ears,” her partner assured with the slightest of wry grins pulling at the corners of his mouth. Mulder was so monotone and bland, except when his mind was whirling with the paranormal. Agent Scully really did not know what to make of him most days.

“For one thing, when a child goes missing, the most likely suspects are their immediate family, or at least other close relatives. It's not _that_ hard to lie about having or not having a child.”

“Sure,” Mulder nodded in acquiescence, a forelock of brown hair falling forward to cover one slim eyebrow. “But Mrs. Breckinridge even submitted to a lie detector test.”

“That's neither conclusive nor admissible in court.”

“Scully, think for a second. Pretend you're a mom.” Mulder cast her a glance out of the corner of his eyes: Fox Mulder had very unique eyes, some strange shade that might best be described as hazel, but could run the gamut from green to grey on any given day of the week. They had a puppy-dog roundness that complimented the soft angles of his face, and when the rest of his face was blandly neutral, his eyes sparkled with mischievous interest. A man with entirely too much going on inside his head, Scully decided. “I don't see you pretending.”

“What, exactly, do you want me to do?”

“Close your eyes.” With a sigh, the woman obliged. “Great. Now, you have a daughter, a bright-eyed little six year old. Love of your life. If something happened, if she disappeared, would you be trying to remove proof that she ever existed?”

“Of course not, Mulder!” Scully sighed with exasperation, opening her eyes and fixing her blue gaze on her partner. “But I'm not an abusive parent. What you're ascribing to the supernatural could be nothing more than a very sick family who is trying to cover up a death, either accidental or neglectful.”

“And the teachers and doctors? You think the Breckinridges could bribe that many people into conveniently 'forgetting,' about their daughter?”

“It's possible,” replied Scully. “If you really want me to explore the realms of the fantastic, how's this for an outlandish proposition: maybe...” she struggled momentarily, her logical mind disliking wild speculation. “Maybe the Breckinridges _and_ the teacher _and_ the pediatrician are all part of a...sacrificial cult. Maybe _that's_ the conspiracy being covered up.”

Mulder seemed to consider this for a moment, as though he actually liked the possibility. “Scully, I think I'm starting to rub off on you.”

“Oh, Mulder,” the woman sighed, her head dropping back against the car seat. “If you are, then we're both in for a world of trouble back at the office.”

The rest of the trip into tiny Fredericksburg was mainly silent, a sleepy town of less than twenty thousand nestled against the picturesque banks of the Rappahannock. Curious neighbors gave the two field agents furtive looks as they approached the Breckinridge residence – a slightly run-down ranch house, all brick facade and faded white windowpanes. Whatever reaction the pair had been expecting when they rang the creaky doorbell, it was not the one they got.

“Well!” Mrs. Breckinridge looked positively _irritated, not_ the standard reaction when approached by two FBI agents, in Scully's experience. “More questions about this Courtney girl, I expect?”

Mulder made the first move, flashing his government ID while Scully followed suit. “Mrs. Breckinridge, I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder, this is my partner, Special Agent Dana Scully. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions, ma'am?”

“I already told the State Police _everything_ ,” the woman replied with an exasperated sigh, still refusing to open her patchy screen door. “There ain't no Courtney here, Trent's my only child.” Behind the denim-clad thigh of the woman, a pair of child's eyes blinked and sparkled dully in the grey afternoon light. Mulder cocked his head at the boy and gave a conservative smile. The boy, Trent, lifted his hand by way of greeting.

“Absolutely, ma'am,” Mulder was continuing, eyes glancing back up to the face of the woman, who looked somewhere in her mid-thirties. “I know how frustrating this must be, so if you could just give us a few moments of your time, we can get the matter squared away and let you get on with your day.”

“Well...” Mrs. Breckinridge seemed to consider that, nervous eyes dancing between Mulder and Scully, who did her best to make her face seem as open and non-threatening as possible. After a moment, the woman nodded, the fine lines around her eyes tightening as she squinted a bit. “Just a few minutes, we're in the middle of packing.”

The screen door opened and the federal agents slipped inside, taking in the atmosphere of the old place: it was sparsely furnished and out of date, with yellow and green carpeting that came straight out of the seventies. For all its humility, though, the house was clearly tended to with great care, and it was most certainly clean – excepting, however, that cardboard boxes were stacked nearly floor to ceiling, the house in a state of being taken apart, tack by tack. “Are you moving someplace, Mrs. Breckinridge?” Agent Scully asked as the older woman directed her to sit on a thread-bare sofa next to her partner. The woman sat across from them, but did not stop wrapping her plates in newspaper to be packed away.

“Yes,” the woman smiled brightly. “A new house! Last year, my husband was fired from his job at the mill. Negligence, they said,” she relayed to her guests with obvious venom. “Negligence my left foot. Michael had been writing to the company headquarters for weeks complaining about safety in the mill. Retaliation, that's what it was.”

“Must have been a tough year for you,” Fox murmured an uninterested reply, gaze fixed on the boy Trent, who sat in the corner, rolling a brightly colored ball between his two palms.

“It was,” the woman sighed tiredly. “But then, a few weeks ago, we got a call from the lawyer we'd hired to handle our suit – and would you believe it? They settled in our favor and agreed to recompense Michael – seven _million_ dollars for lost earnings and emotional distress and I don't know what all!”

Scully blinked, red lashes a blur against blue eyes. “That's...a _considerable_ sum for a settlement.”

“I know!” Mrs. Breckinridge sighed, laying a palm against her lined cheek. “The good Lord was looking out for us, I just know it. The meek shall inherit, you know.” Scully nodded. “So now we can afford a new house – roof in this place has been leakin' for _ever_. And we've got money set aside for Trent's schooling, and a nest egg for ourselves, and...” The woman began to sniffle, newsprint streaking her hands and cheeks as she tried to brush aside the tears. “'scuse me,” she begged, blinking hard. “It's just still overwhelming. Everything I ever wished for, I...”

“Mrs. Breckinridge.” Mulder interrupted, his elbows leaned forward so that they rested against his knees. “We don't want to take up any more of your time than we have to, so if you could just answer a quick couple of questions for us, we'll be on our way and you can return to your packing.”

“Oh,” the woman sniffled and nodded, almost as though she'd forgotten the reason for their visit in the first place. “Yes, of course. What do y'all need to know?”

Mulder pulled a small notepad from his pocket, a pen at the ready. “Trent here is your only child?”

“Course he is,” the southern housewife murmured, seeming to return to her more irritable mood. “Who'd go makin' up a thing like that?”

“You have no relatives named Courtney?”

“I think I'd know if I did.”

“And you have no idea why the state has paperwork saying you have a daughter?”

“Lord only knows!” The woman threw up her hands from the newspapers, looking thoroughly exasperated. “All them government papers are screwy anyway. Last time I went to get my driver's license renewed, they said I didn't have enough documentation to prove who I was, as if anyone would want to pretend to be me! All them government fat cats are just trying to bleed us poor taxpaying folk dr-”

“Mrs. Breckinridge.” Mulder interrupted again and Scully glanced from her partner to the confused woman across the carpet from them. “Would you mind if we talked to Trent alone?” At mention of his name, the young boy's head perked up from where he had been rolling his ball; back and forth across the floor, back and forth, back and forth-

“To Trent?” she repeated, confused. “Whatever on earth for?”

“It's standard Bureau policy.”

“....well, I suppose,” she replied slowly, hesitantly rising from her seat. “Y'all ain't takin' him someplace, are you?”

“No, ma'am,” Fox calmly reassured with a poorly done smile. “We'll sit right here in the living room, it will only take a couple of minutes.”

“Well...alright, I guess. I've got linens to pack in the bedroom anyway...” With a wary eye cast at the pair of agents and then fixed on her son, Mrs. Breckinridge retreated to a back bedroom. Trent dropped his gaze back to his toy, which Scully suddenly noticed had a bright, glassy sheen to it. It didn't look like any rubber ball she'd ever seen a child play with before.

“Hey there, Trent.” Mulder was considerably warmer to the child than he had been to his mother, and he slid down off the sofa to sit on the slightly dusty floor. Mulder had always been good with kids, Scully noted with a smile, it was one of the things she admired about her partner. Perhaps because they were so much less likely to harbor secrets than the adults around them?

“'lo,” was the monosyllabic reply, and the boy's small hand steadied on the round ball.

“What do you have there?”

“It's a crystal.”

Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance – not the reply either had been expecting. Scully moved to the chair the boy's mother had just vacated in order to observe more closely. Trent Breckinridge was maybe eight years old, his dirty blond hair a bowl cut that was plastered to his head in the southern humidity. He was excessively quiet, with a slightly gaunt face and dark circles rimming blue eyes. He didn't look, from what little Scully could see, like a bruised or battered child. But then why that unnatural quiet? Surely it wasn't just shyness that prompted it?

“A crystal ball, huh?” Mulder was continuing, his palms flattened against the black fabric of his trousers at the level of his thighs. “Does it tell you the future?”

“No,” the boy replied in a quiet, yet clear, voice. “You turn it this way, and look inside, and it shows you your dreams.”

“Oh, really? I've never seen a crystal like that before. Where did you get it.”

Even Mulder seemed startled by the way the boy's head snapped up, haunted eyes fixed on the man's face. He bit a pale lip nervously, and actually looked near tears. “If I tell you, you...you won't believe me. Mama and Daddy, they don't believe me.”

“Trent.” Very calmly and slowly, Mulder lowered a hand onto the boy's bony shoulder. “I promise – whatever you tell me, I'll believe you.”

The watery blue eyes of the corn-fed boy gazed up at Scully where she leaned over the arm of the chair. The woman nodded comfortingly. “It's true. He means it.”

As if he had digested this information very slowly, the child let out a shaky sigh, one that seemed to hold the whole weight of the world and not the troubles of an eight year old boy. “The Goblin King,” he whispered. 


	2. Chapter Two

“The Goblin King?” It was Scully who repeated it, trying to keep the disbelief from showing in her voice. Just because it was a weird answer, didn't make it a bad one. If some kind of trauma had befallen the boy and his sister, it would make sense that his fragile young mind might couch it in the realms of the fantastical, something that made more sense than the inhumanity of man. “Who is that?”

“He's...” Trent struggled for a moment, seeming to be working very hard at finding a proper response, before he simply shrugged. “He's the King of the Goblins. My grandma used to tell me stories about him, 'for she died. She said he and the goblins come and steal naughty children, or the ones who get wished away.”

“So, this Goblin King,” Mulder stepped in, slowly lowering his palm from Trent's shoulder. “What did he look like?”

“Sorta funny,” the young boy responded, pulling the crystal into his lap and looking back and forth between the two special agents. He actually seemed relieved to talk about it, like this moment was therapeutic. “His hair was all pale and blond, but not like mine. Like it was almost white.” Mulder glanced up at Scully and she nodded, quickly scribbling notes into her field journal. “He was dressed in all this leather, sorta like one of those bikers you see on the TV, and he even had this long cape, but it had holes in it.”

“What did his face look like?” Fox prompted, fingers drumming restlessly against his leg as his mind moved.

“That was funny, too. It was all...pointy? Like his nose and his face and stuff. And his eyebrows went up, like this.” Trent held his index fingers against the ridges of his eyebrows, one each, and pressed them upward so that his eyes took on a mild look of surprise. “And he had on all this sparkly eye makeup, like a lady.” Mulder and Scully exchanged confused glances, but the woman just shrugged and wrote it down. “He had a funny voice, too. He didn't talk like normal.”

“How did he talk?”

“I dunno. Just not like I do. He didn't sound like you, neither.”

“This Goblin King,” Scully asked quietly and gently, leaning her chin against the arm of the chair to look small and non-threatening in front of Trent. “Did he come visit you at the house?” Trent nodded. “Did you let him in?”

“No, ma'am. Daddy says never to open the door to strangers.”

“Then how did he get inside?”

“Through the window.”

“Was it in your bedroom?” Mulder asked with an equally soft voice. “Or somewhere else?”

“N-no...” The child was growing upset, despite the tender way the agents spoke to him. It seemed the memory of this nightmarish man was what was bothering him now. “It was our bedroom window – mine and Courtney's. After I...after I made that wish!”

Scully stiffened in her chair. “Mulder,” was all she could say, automatically.

Whatever she didn't say, her partner instinctively understood it, and nodded without even looking at her. “Right. Trent,” he pressed on, leaning forward a little so that the boy had to look into his face. “Can you tell me, who is Courtney?”

“She is...she was...” Tears were streaming down round cheeks, leaving a stain in their trail. “She's my  _sister_ .” It was almost a sob, and Scully's chest tightened immediately to see it. He looked like the most pathetic little lamb lost in a dark wood.

“Hey now...” Mulder comforted in soothing, low and dulcet tones, gently squeezing the boy's arm. “It's going to be okay. Agent Scully and I are going to bring her back home safe, okay?”

Trent just shook his head wildly, tears still rolling down his little cheeks. “You can't!” he cried out, breath hitching in his chest. “I wished her away!”

“Trent,” Scully's tone was authoritative, but not harsh: children, in her experience, could sometimes respond better to feeling like an adult was in charge of the situation even more than with cooing and cuddling. “I want you to take a deep breath, and very slowly tell me what happened.”

“I-I-It,” he stammered out between sobs, laboring greatly to bring himself back under control. “It was a few weeks ago,” the child sniffed, wiping a snotty nose against his sleeve. “Courtney was s'posed to go to the dentist, and I wanted a new baseball bat. Mama said we couldn't afford both, with Daddy not workin', and I....I just got so  _mad_ .” He looked up at Scully with wide, wet and apologetic eyes. The woman's heart broke immediately for him. “I was bein' spoiled, and I thought, if Courtney weren't around, maybe we'd have enough money for the things I wanted to do. So....I wished her away.”

“Trent,” Mulder had scooted closer to the boy, laying his broad palm against the child's quivering back. He was like a tiny bird against the man's hand. “When you say wished away, what do you mean?”

“I said I wished the goblins would take her away...you gotta say it the right way, or it doesn't work.”

“And then what happened?” Scully prompted again, sharing furtive glances with her partner. For once, even Mulder seemed skeptical – skeptical, but still intrigued.

“Well...” the boy murmured, taking a deep, snuffly breath through the nose. “...the goblins came.”

“And what did the goblins look like?”

“I didn't see them real close,” young Trent shook his head, briefly making eye contact with both adults before focusing back on the crystal in his lap. “They were real quick. Just....little eyes and teeth and claws, like monsters in the dark. They made noises, kind of like squirrels, only sometimes they...laughed.” With another deep breath, he seemed to anticipate the next question, for he looked Scully square in the face with the bravado of youth. “And that's when the window came open.”

“And the Goblin King came in.”

“Yes, ma'am. As a owl.”

“An...owl?” Scully stumbled over this revelation and shared a look with her partner, but Mulder seemed just as puzzled as she was.

“Yes, ma'am. One of them white ones, with the spooky faces? The kind that screech.”

“A barn owl?” Mulder offered, though it clarified absolutely nothing.

Trent just shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Alright...” Scully was writing more quickly in the notepad, with an emphasis on her first hypothesis – repressed trauma. “And what did this owl do?”

“Well, I was sorta spooked, so I had my eyes closed, but when I opened them again, there he was. The Goblin King, I mean.”

“...the owl was gone?”

“Yes, ma'am.” It was Trent's turn to be annoyed, for he huffed slightly, like this all really ought to be obvious and this was another pair of very slow adults.

“Trent.” Mulder slid his hand from up the child's back to rest at his shoulder again, giving it a friendly and reassuring squeeze. “This Goblin King – did he tell you his name?”

The boy shook his head. “No, sir. I said, 'You're the Goblin King, aren't you?' and he said...” Trent scrunched up his nose and eyebrows slightly, thinking. “Well, like I said, he talked kinda funny, so I don't remember exactly. Something like, 'Indeed I am, sir,' so that's a yes, right?”

“Alright, we don't have to worry about the name,” Scully said, her smooth brow lined in thought. “What did he do?”

“He...” He seemed to grow upset again, and Mulder gave his shoulder another squeeze. It must have helped, for Trent pressed on. “He thanked me for wishing Courtney away, and asked what I wanted in return.”

This was met by a much longer silence. Mulder and Scully just looked at one another, as if either partner really ought to understand what the answer to this riddle must be, but they were equally slack jawed and baffled. “...well, what  _did_ you want, Trent?” Mulder pressed him, voice very dry.

This prompted the tears to begin spilling from the small boy's cheeks all over again. “That's just it...I...I wished for all the money we'd ever need. And then he gave me the crystal and said to hang onto it while I slept, and I'd get what I wanted in the morning.” The tears were, at this point, downright sobs, and Scully slipped from her chair down to the floor with the lad in her distress to see him so upset. “I never even  _thought_ about Courtney! And now look! I-I woke up that morning, and all her things were gone: her bed, her clothes, even the stuffed rabbit that was her  _favorite_ . I-I went to Mama and Daddy and said she was missin', but they  _didn't know who she was_ !” The child  _broke_ , small body racked with sobs, and out of the trust a child has for an adult, he buried his face in Mulder's suit jacket and sobbed his little heart out. It would undoubtedly leave a messy mark on a dry-clean-only suit coat, but Mulder most certainly did not care, his hands loosely wrapped around the gaunt back of the bony child. “I tried to give it back!” Trent was continuing, his voice broken occasionally by sobs. “I called him back and told him to take back the crystal, but he wouldn't do it! 'What's said is said,' that's what he told me. And nobody remembers her but  _me_ !” 

Scully shared a meaningful glance with her partner over the round head of the child, biting her lower lip and hesitantly reaching out a hand to him. “Trent-”

“What is going on in here!” Mrs. Breckinridge had been summoned by the sobs of her son. “What are you doing to my boy!”

“Mrs. Breckinridge-” Mulder tried to explain in his calm way, pulling himself to his feet while Trent scrambled back to a corner with the crystal.

“I want you to leave. I want you people to leave right now!” the woman was nearly screaming, a hand pointed toward her screen door. “I've told everyone and their grandmother that there are no Courtneys here, and I won't have my child harassed anymore! You take your badges and you get out of my house!”

Scully caught Mulder's slight sigh as she quickly stuffed her field notes back into her briefcase and the pair made for the door. “Yes, ma'am,” dry Mulder was saying. “Thank you for your time.” Reaching for the car door, Scully briefly turned her head to look over her shoulder and saw the blue eyes of little Trent peering through the smudged glass. The way he'd cried...where  _had_ his sister gone? And how could an entire community of people forget her – but not her big brother?

“Scully.” The woman blinked, looking down where her hand grasped the latch of the door. Mulder was already in the driver's seat, head tilted to look up at her through the open window. “Come on in the car.”

“Right.” The woman nodded and slid into the seat, trying to clear her head. How could a brother remember his vanished sister? Mulder knew, she thought, giving him the barest of glances from the corners of her bright blue eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Most of the car ride back to the capital was fairly quiet. Mulder didn't crank the a/c this time, instead just letting the heavy, hot air slap them from the open windows of the sedan. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, while Scully reviewed her notes again and again. Financial constraints. Wish based on an old folk tale. An owl. A strange looking man. A child predator? That seemed to make the most sense, but it didn't explain the memory loss of everyone around Trent.

And the owl...what did an owl signify? Scully tried to tap into Jungian philosophy, the collective unconscious. Owls...wisdom? That made no sense. Specify – barn owls. The outskirts of civilization? That was better, that one she wrote down. An owl could symbolize a child's fear of the dark, of the unknown. An owl hunted on the edges of a child's domestic, agrarian world. It was quite poetic, she decided with a sigh, but it did absolutely  _nothing_ to clarify where Courtney Breckinridge had disappeared to. Enough speculating, Mulder was much better at that than she could be. Better to rely upon what little she did know.

What  _very_ little she did know.

And Mulder? Scully turned and looked her partner over. Fox Mulder's grey-green eyes were fixed firmly on the roadway as they passed Quantico, an area with plenty of memories for the both of them. What was Mulder thinking about all this? A young boy with an abducted younger sister was sure to affect him on a deeply personal level – but Dana decided against bringing it up. If Mulder wanted to share, he'd do so in his own time, and it wasn't like it would matter right now anyway. “Spooky” Mulder believed in a lot of weird, fantastical things – but a Goblin King seemed beyond even  _his_ reach.

Scully was content to rely upon her usual methods for a decidedly unusual case, and Friday afternoon found her pouring over the church records where the Breckinridges were members. Right now she was working the conspiracy angle, since her exhaustive background checks on every aunt, uncle and cousin of the Breckinridge clan had come up with nothing. But the Baptist sect seemed incredibly normative for the area and did not have a single complaint lodged against them from anywhere that the special agent could find. It might have been enough to drive her back to frustration again, had reliable Mulder not come bounding through the basement office door.

“Pack your umbrella, Scully!” He was in a flurry of collecting papers and slides. It was funny that Mulder only came alive when working. What on earth did he do with his time off?  _Not_ that she particularly wanted to know. “We've got a red eye tonight for Portland!”

“I take it by your injunction we're talking Oregon and not Maine.”

“Sorry.” Mulder positively grinned at her with straight teeth, sitting on her much tidier desk and pushing the fronds of the office plant out of his way; the poor piece of abused nature had yet to recover from Scully's dumping of the coffee in its soil. “No meandering through the turning colors of a New England autumn.”

“I'll live, don't worry,” she replied with a shake of her head, a red lock of hair falling forward into her eyes as she packed up what she'd been working on. “What's in Portland, anyway?”

“DHS reports truancy for seven year old Benedict Pierce-”

“Let me guess.” Scully held up one hand to stop her partner while she righted her hair with the other. “Everyone denies the existence of such a child?”

“ _And_ ,” Mulder swung his legs off the side of the desk so he could lean forward toward Scully in her office chair, expression positively  _delighted_ . “He has an older sister...”

“Great.” The federal agent sighed again, locking her files away in the appropriate drawers. “Exactly when is this red eye?”

The exact time ended up being one thirty in the morning: just early enough to make it pointless to bother going to sleep. Scully spent the midnight hours packing for the weekend trip and made sure to include a small umbrella, just in case. She folded her laptop and packed that away as well. If the circumstances were the same for this case as the Breckinridge abduction, she was going to lean far more heavily on her cult theory. Even that thought was an unsatisfying one, however; a trans-continental cult was of course  _possible_ , but Occam's Razor made it seem very unlikely that such an organization could not only keep itself secret, but could also make so many people conveniently “forget,” a child's existence.

_Not_ that Occam's Razor favored the goblin theory either, she noted with a bit of a snort.

It wasn't that Mulder was a particularly obnoxious travel companion, but he always set Scully on edge on long flights: it was his intensity. She would curl up as best she could in the straight-backed airline chairs with an eye mask over her face and at least  _attempt_ to get a few crucial hours of shut eye, but Mulder never even bothered. Nor did he on this occasion, either. No, he had his overhead lamp on, a book propped up on the tray table as he popped sunflower seeds into his mouth. He spoke not a word, but Scully could practically hear the gears in his mind turning restlessly. There was no point sleeping when Mulder was sitting at her elbow.

“What is it you're reading?” the young woman asked with clear exhaustion, peeling the corner of her mask up to fix her partner with one tired, blue eye.

Mulder didn't take his hazel eyes off the book, but he grinned at her question anyway. “Fantasy, Scully, you'd like it.”

“Why do I get the feeling this isn't for idle pleasure?”

“I guess you just know me so well,” he replied, slipping another salted seed into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

“Let's see it, Mulder – and you'd better not have another one of those centerfolds hidden in there.”

“Not this time,” he assured her, and turned the book as it stood on the tray table so the glossy illustration faced Scully. It was...a man – it was  _the_ man, practically exactly the way Trent had described him: he had a wild mane of platinum blond hair that fell at irregular angles around his ears and shoulders. This strange creature grinned out at the reader with sharp teeth, one gloved hand outstretched, as though offering...oh damn, that  _was_ a crystal in his palm. His clothing was some bizarre combination of eighteenth century aristocrat and glam rocker, and all around him was a sea of tiny eyes and leering smiles. Goblin faces, Scully realized. And in the corner of the page, silhouetted against a full moon, a barn owl swooped in elegant, lazy flight. Below the booted feet of the strange man was a name done in calligraphy – the Goblin King.

“...that's a good find. Now we know where Trent would have thought up that image.”

“ _Or_ ,” Mulder prompted, raising his eyebrows at her from over the ridge of the book.

“Or nothing, Mulder.”

“Alright, Scully, you win! We'll call the Breckinridges in the morning and see if they've ever owned this book, or one similar to it.”

“We don't have to. Trent already said his grandmother told him stories about goblins, she could have owned the book. Now we just need to figure out why Trent superimposed this image over the kidnapper in his memory.”

“Oh, come on, Scully!” Mulder shut the book with an irritated snap, waking a few of their neighbors in the cabin, who grumbled their disapproval. Carefully, Fox lowered his voice. “In folklore, goblins steal kids. You're telling me Trent just  _happens_ to make that wish when his sister  _happens_ to disappear, and his family  _happens_ to come into a lot of money while they  _happen_ to forget they have a daughter?”

“I'm not telling you anything of the kind, and you know that,” the serious young woman replied, not looking at all pleased with her partner's jumps in logic. “I'm telling you a scared eight year old is interpreting what he saw in a way that makes sense to an injured mind. What we ought to do is find a qualified child psychologist who can get the real information out of him.”

“And what will you say when the psychologists reports the kid saw  _goblins_ in his bedroom?” At the look on her face, he shook his head. “Go on, Scully, tell me I'm crazy.”

“Mulder,” she sighed, propping her chin on her fist as her elbowed perched on the armrest between them. “You're crazy.”

“I will bet you,” Mulder whispered to her with an intense look flashing in his grey eyes. “I will bet you a brand new coffee maker that when we get to Portland, the Pierce girl has a crystal and has the  _exact_ same story that Trent Breckinridge did.”

“Even if that happened, it wouldn't be conclusive.”

“New coffee maker, Scully.”

“...I want the kind that froths the milk at the same time.”

“Deal,” Mulder grinned at her, a hand extended. Scully had the unsettled feeling she was going to regret this, but took her partner's hand in a firm shake regardless.

 

* * *

 

 

The Pierce home was very much the opposite of the Breckinridge abode: it neared mansion status, set atop the city's west hills, with large French windows and a perfectly manicured front garden. The fall rain that greeted them upon leaving the airport was the standard Portland drizzle, not even worth fussing with the umbrella for, Scully realized. From the foyer of the Pierce home, one could catch a view of nearly the entire Pacific city: the blue cap of the Koin tower reflected the low, grey light of the dreary autumn day, the river that split the city meandered with its general flat, lazy appearance. From what Scully could tell, a child living here would not have to wait for a baseball bat until after dental bills were paid – but looks  _could_ be deceiving, she reminded herself.

What was immediately unsettling to the pair, however, was that the Pierces were in a state of mid-move as well.

“Agent Mulder, Agent Scully,” Edward Pierce had greeted the two federal investigators with a warm and open smile. “I want to help my government in any way I possibly can – though I confess, I'm not sure why this is a federal case, you'll excuse the expression.”

“Missing children are always important, Mr. Pierce,” Mulder replied, his eyes scanning over the marble-lined staircase that wound up to an internal balcony.

“Of course they are, I agree,” Edward nodded, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “But the idea that Marilyn and I have another child – it's just crazy.” Both Scully and Mr. Pierce caught sight of a brown haired girl peeking round the corner of the dining room doorway, and both smiled. Well, Scully smiled – Edward Pierce positively  _beamed_ . “Serena, come here for a second. Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, this is my daughter, Serena.”

Mulder smiled at the girl, a knowing kind of glint gleaming in his greenish eyes. “Hey there, Serena.”

“Hello...”

“Like I told Portland PD – Serena is our only girl.” The father squeezed his daughter's shoulders with obvious affection. “And who could possibly want another child when they have the perfect little girl right here, huh?” Scully raised one red eyebrow at the painful blush that crept across Serena's face.

“Mr. Pierce,” the woman began quietly. “Are you and your family in the process of moving?”

“Ah, yes, we are,” the businessman nodded, patting his daughter's shoulder again by way of dismissal. “Marilyn and I work downtown, but we got to talking – we spend so much time at work and away from Serena, we came to a decision: we've bought this horse ranch out in Yamhill County. We're moving there and spending all our time with our little girl. You have no idea how happy we are.” And there was that smile again. This time, however, it twisted Scully's gut just a little.

“Mr. Pierce,” Mulder was sighing. He didn't seem happy anymore, just incredibly weary. Scully kind of got why – and it wasn't from not sleeping on the airplane there. “Would you mind if we spoke to your daughter privately for a few minutes?”

“With Ser? Well...I guess so, but shouldn't I-”

“Standard Bureau policy,” Scully cut off his questions with a shake of her head.

The smile on Mr. Pierce's face faltered slightly, but he ultimately nodded. “Of course...why don't you two go sit in the study, I'll send Serena your way.” Pointing out the specific room, the father turned and went looking for his daughter, calling, “Ser? Serena!”

The study was just as sumptuous as what Scully had seen of the rest of the house. Mulder ran his fingers along the spines of very antique and expensive looking books on the shelves, whistling as he did so. “Do you think he's read all these, or just wants people to  _think_ he's read all these?” Scully snorted at her partner a little, smiling in spite of herself. “Anna Karenina – would you look at that, in the original Russian. I don't see evidence of your conspiracy yet, Scully.”

“Oh Mulder, stop,” she laughed just a little. “Out of the two of us, you're not going to make  _me_ sound like the conspiracy theorist.”

The door suddenly opened and the head of a pretty young girl peeked in. “Dad said you wanted to talk to me...”

“Hi there,” Scully smiled at her, bending down with a hand outstretched. “My name's Agent Scully, this is my friend, Agent Mulder. Would it be okay if we asked you a few questions?”

“I guess so,” the girl shrugged, slinking fully into the room and shutting the door behind her, her back pressed against it.

“Serena.” Mulder still had that tired tone to his voice, his hand playing absentmindedly with a very expensive looking paperweight sat on the desk. “I'm going to cut straight to the point here, because you're a big girl and I think you can handle it, okay?” A pair of big, brown eyes nodded at him. “Good.” At last, the man turned and looked at her with a serious expression. “Benedict Pierce is your brother, isn't he?”

The girl bit her lower lip, her hands knotting themselves together. “You know about Benny?”

“We're two of the only people who do,” Scully murmured in a half-soothing tone.

“Th-then you know about...” She looked between the two adults, waiting for them to finish the thought for her. When they didn't, she sighed and her shoulders dropped a little. “About my wish?”

“What did you wish for?” Scully asked the girl, who came and picked up the paperweight from off the desk.

“Benny had been following me around all day,” she explained; they always felt the need to justify their actions, it seemed. “He was just such an annoying little twerp, and...and Mom and Dad are always gone, and...” The girl blinked back a fresh crop of tears, refusing to break down in front of strangers. “I really like horses, okay?” When neither of them made to say anything, the girl's attitude increased – out of a sense of vulnerability, it was very obvious to the agents. Poor kid didn't really know what she'd gotten herself into. “Can I go now?”

“Just a second. Mulder, hand me that book, would you?”

“What? Oh.” The agent dug it from his briefcase and handed it over to his partner. Scully flipped it open to the dogeared page.

“Serena. Have you ever seen this book before?”

“What?” The girl looked very confused, examining the front and back covers, but eyes always becoming transfixed by the full-page illustration. “No.”

“Have you ever seen any book like it?”

“I like horse books. Where did you get this?” She took it from the field agent's hands, looking nearly haunted. “It looks just like him.”

“Like who?” Mulder prompted, leaning forward on his toes with barely repressed excitement.

“The Goblin King.” Biting her lip again, she looked up at Scully with wide, sad brown eyes. “I told him I didn't mean it, I really did.” When the woman said nothing, she nearly cried again. “I didn't mean for everyone to forget Benny!”

“I know,” Agent Scully could only sigh, placing a comforting hand lightly on the girl's shoulder. “Agent Mulder and I are going to do everything we can to get your brother back.”

The girl looked a wreck, like she might break apart at any moment. Rather than letting that happen, she fixed her eyes firmly on the floor, saying, “I need to go pack my stuff.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Serena,” Mulder stopped her before she could finish opening the door. “Did he give you a crystal?”

“Yeah,” she nodded in return. “He said that's how the wish happens.” Mulder shot a knowing, mildly smug glance at his partner, and seeing that she was no longer needed, the girl slipped back out of the room.

Scully pursed her red lips a little. “Don't say it, Mulder.”

“Don't worry, Scully,” he assured her, taking back the book and replacing it in his case. “I'll be perfectly happy with an old fashioned Mr. Coffee.” She was tempted to throw the expensive paperweight at his head, but Mulder had already gone looking for Mr. and Mrs. Pierce. He found them in the kitchen, talking quietly over cups of tea with Scully close on his heels.

“You don't think they're scaring Ser, do you?” the husband asked his wife. “You know what a sensitive little mite she is.”

“Actually, I think your daughter's pretty tough,” Mulder answered, standing quietly by the kitchen sink. Mr. Pierce made to stand, but the agent waved him back down. “We're almost out of your hair, we're very sorry to have taken so much of your time. We just have a few quick questions and we'll be on our way.”

“What questions?” the woman Marilyn asked, looking from one severe, federal face to the other.

“Are you two acquainted at all with a man by the name of Michael Breckinridge?”

The spouses looked at each other with absolutely blank faces. “No, I don't recall anyone by that name.”

“Anyone with the last name Breckinridge at all?”

“I don't think so...”

“Have you ever been to Fredericksburg, Virginia?”

Marilyn gave an unsteady, nervous laugh. “Of course not – what is this about?”

“Nothing at all, Mrs. Pierce,” and Mulder smiled at her, flipping his case notebook shut. “Thank you so much for your time, Agent Scully and myself will be on our way.”

“Let me walk you to the door,” the confused Mr. Pierce weakly offered, but Mulder politely declined.

“That won't be necessary. But thank you very much.” With a nod to his partner, they both walked back through the palatial house and out the front door. The light, drizzly mist had become a full on, late September rain and Scully very much regretted leaving her umbrella behind. “Well, Scully?” Mulder asked her with the slightest of smiles, pulling the collar of his coat against his neck to shield him from the rain.

“I'm not convinced.”

“Of course you're not.” He started for the car.

“I'd like to subpoena both family's phone records and computers-”

“Provided the Breckinridges even have a computer-”

“-and see if there's been any communication between the two.”

“Tell you what, Scully,” Mulder smiled at her as he unlocked the car. “I'm such a nice guy, I'll submit the paperwork for you. And I'll even buy the first pound of coffee for our new brewer.” Scully fixed him a look that clearly said he was not quite as charming as he seemed to think.

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

If Scully had wanted a few days of peace and quiet back home, she was sorely disappointed on her return to D.C. She was afforded the mercy of one night's sleep in her own bed before urgent summons had her back at the Bureau. Another child had gone missing, she and Mulder were quickly briefed. Whatever they had to say about that in how it related to the X-Files, management didn't really care. The problem was, this time, a child had been _reported_ missing, by his family.

The urgency of the problem? It was the son of an important diplomat in New York, there for a meeting of the U.N. Security Council. “This needs to be solved and it needs to be solved _now_ , Scully, Mulder,” their superiors had directed them. “Quietly and with _discretion_. Apparently you two already have the market cornered on weird disappearances, so _fix this_.” Scully had assured that they would find out what had happened as quickly and discretely as possible. Mulder said nothing, he merely munched more sunflower seeds.

Scully was a little morose to note that the problem was considered urgent enough to drag her out of bed on her day off, but _not_ urgent enough to buy them plane tickets. No, it was a four and a half hour train ride from the capital to Penn Station for the pair of them – but maybe that was a blessing in disguise, she thought, as she flipped through the file given to them by management. This newest twist in an already twisted case was...confusing, to say the least.

“Okay, Mulder, let's go over the facts.”

“Uh huh.” Her partner had picked up a new fantasy book, she noted. This one was “Faeries: Their Lives and Secrets.” Mulder on faeries, that was _all_ Scully needed.

“Paperwork from ICE confirms that Ariq Ahmed, his wife and his two sons entered the country three weeks ago. Two days ago, Ahmed reports his elder son, Anwer, missing. NYPD wants to question the younger son – the Ahmeds have no idea what they're talking about.”

“Someone wished away the baby,” Mulder murmured, never looking up from his book. “But they remember Anwer.”

“It's possible that Anwer's disappearance has nothing to do with that of his younger brother.”

That _did_ get Mulder's attention, and he fixed his younger partner with a nearly withering look. “Scully: you mean to tell me you believe in a massive coincidence, but you _don't_ believe in Goblin Kings?”

The woman huffed, folding her arms across her breast. “How is it that _I'm_ the unreasonable one in this conversation?”

“The real question is – who did the wishing? We get the answer to that, we may find out more about where _both_ boys have landed.”

“ _If_ they're together.”

Mulder shrugged. “Right.” And with that, he was back to his book. Scully had to just stare at him a minute: one minute he could be bouncing with manic energy with a new break in a strange case, the next he could be tuning out the world and focusing on seemingly the most random of details. She wasn't sure she was ever going to figure Fox Mulder out. She had just decided she probably never would when he did another one of his strange _things_ ; Mulder picked his head up from his book with a sudden grin, and in a voice almost too quiet to hear, whispered, “Goblin King, Goblin King...”

“What?” Scully asked, blinking.

“Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be, I wish...”

“Wish what? Mulder, what are you talking about?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing, Scully.” Her partner grinned again, but it was more to himself, and he settled back into his book with the contentment of the cat who had caught the canary.

 

* * *

 

 

Mulder's behavior was very weird when the train pulled into Pennsylvania Station in the late afternoon. Well, even weirder than it usually was. He made a big show of looking for his bag along the luggage rack, even though Scully could see it clear as day. “Well, Scully, have the goblins made off with our luggage?”

“Mulder, it's right-”

He covered her pointing finger with his hand, a wicked smirk playing along his full mouth. “Why, I wish the Goblin King would...oh, here it is!” Scully just stared at him, mouth parted.

The odd behavior did not stop there. He was absolutely insistent that he be the one to flag a taxi when they'd climbed the stairs back to the semi-fresh air of the world above; if they had to visit New York, fall was probably the best time for it, Scully considered. The worst of the heat and humidity was over, and it was actually a very beautiful place in the changing colors, warm and inviting. But that wasn't the point – the point was that Mulder was very _bad_ at hailing cabs. “Mulder, just let me do it,” she huffed, about to step off the curb. “It's not like it's hard-”

“Scully.” He grinned at her, and she stepped back, totally confused. “Trust me, hey? Goblin King, Goblin King...”

“Would you _shut up_ about the stupid Goblin King? You're like a broken record today.”

He was at last successful in flagging down a passing yellow cab, and he held the door open for her like a true gentleman – which did nothing to assuage the young woman's fears. “Here we go, Scully.”

“Mulder,” she asked him when he had scooted next to her on the bench seat and given the driver directions to their hotel. “Why are you _so certain_ this Goblin King story is the truth?”

“Why are you so certain it's not?” he returned to her, popping a fistful of sunflower seeds into his mouth. Looking at the sticky cab floor, Scully didn't think the addition of a few hulls would be noticed.

“Because it's ridiculous, for a start.”

“Scully,” Mulder shook his head, speaking around a mouthful of seeds. “You're a student of physics. What about the many-worlds interpretation? You don't think there's _any_ possibility that there are an infinite number of alternate realities spinning away in space?”

“That's quantum theory,” she replied to his question with a sigh, plucking a missed seed off his jacket. “That has nothing to do with missing children.”

“But isn't is _possible_ that there's a version of reality where a Goblin King is stealing wished away children?”

“I can't believe I am having this conversatio-”

“Isn't it?” he pressed her, his hazel eyes glittering in the dying light of the afternoon.

Scully paused and sighed again. “Is it possible? _Maybe_. But without any kind of compelling concrete evidence, I'd say that there are other, more _rational_ explanations that are far more plausible.”

“What about the kids getting what they wished for, isn't that compelling?”

“No, it's not. It's entirely possible that it's entirely coincidental. Lightning does sometimes strike the same place twice, you know.”

“And everyone who's ever met these kids forgetting them, is that coincidental?”

“Just because _I_ don't have the answer doesn't mean that there isn't a good one out there, Mulder.”

“You're totally right,” he nodded, swallowing the last of his mouthful of seeds. “I just happen to think that a very good explanation would be-” Before Scully could stop him, her partner had rolled down the window and shouted at the top of his lungs, “ _Goblin King_!”

“ _Mulder_!” The cab driver flicked his glance up at the pair through the rear view mirror – and shrugged. It was New York, he'd seen stranger things. The mortified Agent Scully, however, was dragging her co-worker's head back from the cab window. “Have you taken total leave of your senses!”

“Just trying to make a break in the case, Scully,” he flopped back against the torn seat of the cab, grinning at her.

“I think you're _trying_ to make me prematurely grey.”

“No reason to be nervous – you don't believe in goblins anyway.” Before she could come up with a witty retort, Mulder pointed out the window. “Ah look, here we are, home, sweet home.”

The Starwood was a beautiful, modern highrise of glittering glass panes, situated not three blocks from the Rockefeller Plaza, and its staff seemed inordinately pleased to be hosting two agents of the federal government on what was no doubt important, official business. Scully just rubbed her temples as she let Mulder take care of checking them in: she somehow doubted they'd have been quite so enamored with their guests if they knew just what sort of mission was bringing them there.

“You're on floor thirteen, Agent Mulder,” a college-age bellhop in a smartly starched uniform was smiling, handing the man his keys. “Rooms thirteen-six and thirteen-seven. Can I help you take your bags up?”

“Thanks, but we got it,” Mulder assured the young man, shouldering most of what little luggage they'd brought himself. Scully gave him a little smile as they entered the elegant elevator, carrying their briefcases and her clunky laptop bag.

“Well, I guess thanks are in order after all.”

“Nah,” Mulder shrugged, adjusting the way his duffel bag hung on his shoulder. “I just didn't want to give him a tip.” The discussion on the ride up turned far more mundane, making plans to get food before they spent the entire night pouring over documents and making interrogation plans. They were in the process of deciding between Thai and Italian when Scully opened her hotel room door-

And nearly screamed in surprise.

The place was a _wreck_ : a table had been completely overturned, the linens were all pulled clean off the bed, pillows were torn and their feathers scattered every which way. Someone had taken the provided shampoos and rubbed them generously into the carpeting – and there, sitting on the windowsill, its eyes firmly fixed on the woman at the doorway, sat a large, tawny barn owl.

If Scully were a woman given to fits of fancy, she might have even said it was _glaring_ at her.

Instead, she shouted, “ _Mulder_!” who dropped the bags and came running to her side. Neither removed their side arms, there seemed little point for an _owl_ , and the creature took off into the dusky night as soon as the man made it to her side anyway. “Can you believe...” Scully was continuing in frustration, a delicate hand woven into her hair and tugging gently in annoyance. “For Christ's sake. I'm going to call the management.”

“Wait, Scully.” Mulder had hold of her elbow and was pointing at a spot on the dresser, the _only_ part of the room that hadn't been utterly ruined. “Look.” She did look, and sitting there, glittering in the light that was thrown carelessly about the room from overturned lamps, sat one perfect, shimmering crystal ball.

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Jareth quotes is "The Foxes" by A.A. Milne (of Winnie-the-Pooh fame). And I totally used a random generator for Mulder's fortune.  
> OMFG, I have fanart!!! The amazing recurve-hawke was kind enough do some art for this chapter, and you can find it here: http://recurve-hawk.tumblr.com/post/105772284041/okay-so-i-did-some-fanart-really-quick-for-a-hella

Dana Scully had a distinctly queasy feeling roiling in the pit of her stomach.  _Just perfect_ . Here she was trying to live and work in the real, logical world, and owls had to come swooping into her hotel room and crystals had to go popping up on her dresser.  _Just peachy_ . 

Mulder had walked cautiously up to the crystal orb on the undisturbed dresser, his eyes shining his distinct interest. “What was it Trent said?” he murmured. “Turn it and it will show you your dreams? Let's find out...” Without any sense of caution, he picked up the surprisingly heavy, warm object; no sooner had he done so, but a smooth tenor voice filled the room, as if coming from a full set of stereo speakers Scully could not for the life of her locate.

“You know,” the voice almost boomed, irritation very obvious in its speech. “It's extremely poor manners to go shouting a man's title every which way – in public, no less. Should you like it if I cried your name from every hillock in the Underground?” Scully knew now what Trent had meant when he said the man spoke in a strange way – for it was most definitely a man's voice, highlighted by a lilt that would have most closely been called and English accent, but that didn't quite fit the bill. It was clear this sourceless apparition had the ability to be quite dulcet and melodic, but the clear annoyance that colored his tones ruined that effect. “Fox Mulder, Fox Mulder, Fox Mulder!”

“Mulder-!” Scully began, startled. Whoever had sent this recording – for she decided that's what it was, and she was going to confirm that as  _soon as she found the speakers_ – knew more about them than she felt comfortable with. Her partner just waved her concern off, eyes still fixed with a hungry look on the crystal he was holding.

“Do  _not_ ,” the disembodied voice was continuing, “call upon me unless you intend to finish what is started. I will find you tonight – I suggest you improve your manners when I do.” And with that, the speaking stopped, and an unnatural quiet filled the ruined hotel room.

The spell was broken by Fox's heady, bizarrely jubilant laughter. “ _Yes_ !” he shouted, tossing the crystal into the air and catching it with one hand in his triumph. “It worked, Scully!”

“ _What_ worked! What in the hell is going on!”

“Just had to drag His Royal Snobbishness out of hiding and I irritated him enough to show himself.”

“Oh,  _great_ , Mulder.” Scully put her hands on her hips and just looked at him. “You tell me we're dealing with magical, inter-dimensional beings and then you go and piss them off!”

“It's why you love me, Scully,” he assured her while still wearing that stupid grin. He crossed the room and tweaked her chin with his free hand. “Let's lock the stuff in my room, tell the hotel staff what happened to yours, and go eat, huh?”

“My appetite is severely reduced right now.”

“You'll feel better when we get some food!” her partner assured her, looping her arm with his own and pulling her along. “You don't want to meet a king on an empty stomach, do you?” Really, Scully considered, she had no desire to meet a king at all.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, the federal agents went with neither Thai nor Italian food for dinner, finding a nearby Chinese restaurant that was little more than a hole in the wall. Scully could only pick at her dim sum, a combination of nerves and jumbled thoughts, but Mulder tucked into the orange chicken with great enthusiasm. “Come on, Scully,” he tried to reassure her. “We're that much closer to getting answers, that has to make you happy.”

“I'd be happier if we knew more about what we were up against.”

“I could always lend you that book.”

“Thanks, but I think I'll stick to the more standard profiles,” she replied dryly, popping a bite of egg foo young into her mouth. “But Goblin King and faeries; I don't get the connection.”

“Well, if I'm right-” he lifted his hand to stop the beginning of her comment, “-and I know, it's a big if – but if I am, then the ruler of the Goblin Kingdom is this sort of humanoid magical being. A faerie, the Sidhe in Celtic mythology.”

“Okay...” Scully drawled, dribbling soy sauce over her rice. “And what is an ancient Irish being doing in Fredericksburg, Virginia? Or mid-town Manhattan, for that matter.”

“Well...” Mulder grinned at her, reaching his hand down onto the bench next to him and picking up the large, round crystal. “I'm hoping we'll both find out tonight.”

“Mulder, you brought that with us to dinner?”

“Are you kidding? I'm not letting this out of my sight!”

“Great,” the woman sighed, getting out her wallet to pay. “It can be our nightlight while we go over the Ahmed information in  _your_ room.”

“Hey, you don't need to be upset,” Fox smiled at her in his mildly disarming way as he handed her a fortune cookie. “The staff promised they'd have it all fixed up by midnight.”

“I don't get how a barn owl could have caused so much damage,” she sighed, dropping a twenty onto the waiting bill. “It was like a small army of hellions were intent on tearing that room apart.”

“Hellions, or-” Mulder took a sip of his tea.

“Please don't say it, Mulder,” Scully begged with two small fingers to her pale temple.

“Goblins?”

“And you said it anyway.”

“I guess it's about time we got to work!” Mulder purred with a stretch of his arms, breaking his cookie in half with his hand. “But first, our fortunes.”

Even dour Dana had to smile for that a little. “Right, important things first.” She carefully chewed the egg-white shell of the small cookie before gently unfolding the tiny slip of paper. Scully tilted her head, her soft, red hair falling forward. “...huh.”

“What is it?” Mulder leaned over the table at her curiously.

“Nothing, mine's just weird.”

“Well, what does it say?”

“It says...” Scully hesitated and then shrugged. They were just words on a scrap of paper. “It says go out the door and make two lefts.”

“Huh. Well,” and Mulder beamed at her. “Mine says, 'Stop searching forever. Happiness is just next to you.'”

“How adorable.” She smiled gently back at him.

“...in bed.” Scully rolled her eyes. “Well, shall we go out the door and take two lefts?”

“I'd rather just go back to the hotel room.”

“Scully,” Mulder scolded her, gently pulling her to her feet by the elbow. “Where has your sense of adventure gone? Let's go see what fortune might await us!”

The fortune that awaited them, out the door and with two left turns, was an alleyway next to the restaurant, where cans full of garbage and glass bottles were waiting to be picked up by the sanitation crew. Among this debris, a fat New York rat scurried by. Scully sighed and adjusted her jacket against the early chill of fall. “This seems about right for where my fortune would take us, yup,” she agreed with a nod of her head. “Satisfied, Mulder?”

He smirked slightly and rolled his shoulders. “I guess so. Well, let's get back to the-”

There was a sudden screech that alerted them to another's presence; it was difficult to tell if it was the rat that made that scream, or the silently flying bird that had suddenly swooped down upon it. Both Scully and Mulder jumped slightly in surprise, leastwise because the bird was an  _owl_ . A tawny colored owl with a death-mask face and a strange pair of glittering eyes as it made short work of the rat.

_Just an owl in the city_ , Scully tried mightily to rationalize to herself.  _With territory reduction due to urban development, owls in city settings are going to become more common occurrence-_

Scully's rationality was cut tragically short by the cloud of glitter, the rippling that began in front of the pair in the alleyway, like a heat vent were suddenly letting off steam, only without any evidence of that happening at all. She briefly had to steady herself against Mulder's arm as the cloud gave way to...

To a man, standing there – tall, but not as tall as Mulder (who had not flinched since the owl went in for the kill). He had a shock of blond hair that looked almost white in the low light of the alley, a black and ratty cloak hung about his shoulders and a pair of flashing eyes in the darkness. He stepped toward them, and revealed a long leg that was covered with a black boot and closely fitted leather pants; he leaned forward, and a gaunt, sharp face betrayed even sharper teeth in an expression that was somewhere between a leer and a grin.

“Ah!” he at last spoke, a little like a crow. “How pleasant to see you so obligingly followed my directions!” There was not a doubt about it: it was the exact same voice that had greeted them from the crystal orb. Scully noticed Mulder still held it in the palm of his hand, and his fingers tightened around it. The stranger looked over Mulder with an odd pair of eyes; Scully could see one pupil was much more heavily dilated than the other, giving him the appearance of mismatched eyes, but she was fairly certain they were both blue. With an air of superiority, the excessively odd man at last smirked. “Fox Mulder, is it? Yes, I thought as much.” With no more warning than that, he turned on his booted heel and began reciting.

“Once upon a time there were three little foxes

Who didn't wear stockings, and they didn't wear sockses,

But they all had handkerchiefs to blow their noses,

And they kept their handkerchiefs in cardboard boxes.”

The smug smile became a strange, white grin in the twilight, and he swept past Mulder with no more notice than that to take Scully's hand (she noted he wore black leather gloves, despite the fact the weather absolutely did not require them) and kiss it gallantly. “And this must be the radiant Dana Scully.  _Enchant_ _é_ , my dear. I'm afraid I have no poems off-hand for lovely girls named Dana.”

“You're him, aren't you?” Mulder asked seriously, crossing his arms over his chest, hazel eyes narrowed. “You're the Goblin King.”

The otherworldly man sighed, laying his free hand against his cheek. “A question I never truly grow tired of hearing. I do have that honor. The goblins come with the honor,” and he nodded his head back toward the darkness of the alleyway. At that, dozens of little eyes opened in the shadows, and the flash of sharp teeth could be clearly distinguished among the chittering noise of bone-chilling giggles. Scully felt very sure those were not rats.

“Well, we have some questions for you, Mr. Goblin King,” Mulder began, sliding the crystal into a pocket of his coat and retrieving a notepad and pen instead.

The Goblin King had straightened, but had yet to release Scully's hand from his grip, and she began to tug gently against him. His strange eyes flashed dangerously in the half-light. “I believe I instructed you to work on your manners, Agent Mulder, did I not?”

Mulder grinned back, seeming to be in his element here. “I don't think the U.S. Government affords fairytale creatures diplomatic immunity.”

“What I am  _afforded_ ,” the stranger hissed, releasing Scully's hand at last so he could more effectively try to loom over Mulder, “and what I  _take_ are two entirely different things. Your mortal restrictions mean less than nothing to me.”

The King's attempt at looming was thwarted by the fact that Mulder possessed a full two inches over him in height, and the agent stepped fearlessly forward so that his eyes most definitely had to look down to meet his opponent's. He also had the audacity to smile all the while. “We're here about Courtney Breckinridge and Benedict Pierce.”

The strange fey creature stepped back again to more fully take in his two opponents, a gloved finger pressed thoughtfully against his thin lips. “...you are no relations of theirs, I am quite sure. You do not know them.”

“No,” Scully agreed. “We've never seen them before.”

“Then how is it you know of these two when my magic erases their memory from all who have met them?”

“We haven't  _met_ them,” Mulder explained, pulling a manilla file from his briefcase. “But the federal government has documents that  _should_ prove their existence.”

The Goblin King snatched the file from Fox's hand with a cold sneer, looking everything over with greedy eyes before his lip curled in disgust. “I might have known...” He tossed the folder unceremoniously back at Mulder. “This modern mortal  _fetish_ for record keeping strains even my considerable magic. Removing their school and doctor records was taxing enough. I see I shall have to be more thorough in the future when it comes to erasing the notion of their very existence.”

“Where are the two children,” Scully demanded seriously of him.

The King merely straightened his gloves around his wrists. “In the Underground, of course.”

“The Underground?”

The fey sighed and rolled his eyes. “This world that you find so utterly cozy, this is the Aboveground. My world is connected to yours – not  _literally_ underground, naturally, it's just the old name for it. We are connected on different planes of existence.”

“You need to return them.”

“I don't  _need_ to do anything,” and he snarled slightly at her now, where most of his ire had been reserved for her partner. “You two seem to think I have appeared here to do your bidding. I assure you most emphatically, that is not the case.”

“Then why  _are_ you here?”

“I am here to assuage my curiosity – to see who has been  _shouting_ my titles all over the Aboveground.” He cast a sidelong glare at Mulder here. “And also I am here on...personal business.”

“And just what is this 'personal business?'”

“It is personal,” and he smiled with pointed teeth.

“Look, Mr. Goblin King-” Mulder sighed, pulling up a trash bin to make an impromptu seat.

The unnatural man's upper lip twitched. “I think you do this just to vex me. An unwise move, I do warn you.”

“-we're really trying to understand where you're coming from on this, we are.”

“We are?” Scully interjected with a raised red brow.

“However,” Mulder was continuing as though the interruptions had not happened. “We're only a couple of hapless mortals in the Aboveground, and you're an immortal being of magic; try bending down to our level for a second.”

The Goblin King burst into barking laughter at that, gloved hands at his narrow, bony hips. “Flattery will get you  _everywhere_ , Little Fox. Very well. What is it you wish to have clarified for your simple minds?”

“Tell us exactly what happened when Trent Breckinridge and Serena Pierce wished away their siblings.”

“I should think you already know that,” the King slurred, picking non-existent pieces of dust from off his immaculate-yet-tattered cape. “It is an old magic that binds your world to mine, from the days when their borders were not so clear. Each Kingdom in the Underground has its place, the same as yours.  _My_ place is the sovereign domain of dreams and things that are wished away. When the right words are spoken, I am duty bound to appear.”

“What's the purpose of stealing children?” Scully asked, gently pushing her partner over so she might join him on top of the garbage bin.

“I just  _told_ you,” the Fey Lord growled with narrowed eyes. “I  _steal_ nothing. I take what is freely offered to me.”

“The children are not legal guardians of their siblings, what they say should have no bearing on what you do.”

The Goblin King rolled his eyes. “I believe I also just finished saying that your mortal laws mean very little to me.” Around him in the darkness, there was an eery giggling of high-pitched voices. “Do you want this lesson or don't you? Now, as I was saying...” he purred, pushing back locks of his wild hair. “It is traditional to offer something in exchange for the child.”

“Such as their dreams,” Mulder interjected, but the King didn't seem to mind this, for he nodded.

“Yes. Their dreams.” He gave a kind of smile that made Scully feel uneasy as she sat on the garbage can. “They almost always accept.”

“What happens to the children who are wished away?”

“Oh, many things,” he continued in a very bored vein. “Depending on the age or disposition, I often adopt them out to fey families. Being so long-lived, my kind does not produce at the rapid rate yours does.  _We_ cherish our children,” and he fixed the pair with a look of such undisguised disgust, a charge leveled against the unworthy parents of the whole human race, that they both had to squirm under the heavy gaze. “Anything else?”

“There's another child missing,” Scully replied quietly. “Here, in the city. Anwer Ahmed.”

“Ah yes, little Anwer.” The Goblin King was smiling slyly at this recollection, and the woman burned to know why. “He is Underground as well.”

“Did  _he_ wish his little brother away?”

“Indeed he did. But young Anwer is from a proud people, a people who still believe in the Goblin Kingdom – it's such a pity so few do, I was once far too busy to bother having this conversation with mortals, you know. He knew his mistake,  _he_ was repentant. He would not take his dreams.”

“So what did you do?” Scully demanded, ire growing hot behind her blue eyes. “Kill him?”

The King looked affronted, taken aback, and his temper flared. “I warn you,  _woman_ , you are growing less charming by the moment.”

“Then what did you do?”

“Those who will not accept their dreams,” he continued, fairly spitting while the goblins around him hissed their displeasure in Scully's direction, “are given a chance to win back the child they have lost – they must run my Labyrinth. Now, don't ask me to explain that. It will take far too long, you won't understand it, and I am growing increasingly bored of this discussion.”

“Why isn't Anwer forgotten like the others?” Mulder at last asked, far calmer than his partner. “Why make them forgotten to everyone but their siblings?”

The frightening fey man smiled that terrible smile again, showing a mouth full of pointed teeth. “Selfishness has its cost, Little Fox, I'm sure you know that. I grant the wishers their dreams, yes, and I make it so the children were never known in the Aboveground. Or nearly so...” he sniffed theatrically. “But I make sure they have to live with the knowledge of what their  _vapid_ little dreams cost them. Now, as to the young Anwer, as you were inquiring, he was given the opportunity to run my Labyrinth. He had thirteen hours, more than generous on my part – and he failed. The always do.” His mouth suddenly twitched. “Well. Almost always. He is stuck in the Fiery Forest as we speak, I am still deciding what I shall do with him.” Thus saying, he examined the fingers of his gloves critically, reinforcing how bored he was.

“But he isn't forgotten,” Scully reminded, and the Goblin King smiled again.

“No, he isn't. He must live knowing that a few careless words cost him his younger brother, and his failure has caused this pain to his family and everyone he loves. No more than a fitting punishment, wouldn't you say?”

“I'd say you're positively  _sick_ ,” Scully almost shouted, jumping to her feet. “And you're going to give those children back.”

“Am I?” He smiled at her and leaned forward. “Who will make me, dearest, most darling Dana? Or do you intend to  _entice_ me?” And his eyes wandered down to the modest cut of her suit, letting a gloved finger trail along the high neckline. 

“We have a proposition for you,” Mulder interrupted, also standing and pulling Scully back slightly from the King's fingers.

The fey sighed. “Oh, do you now?” It was just as much news to Scully, but she tried to school her expression to keep that information from showing.

Mulder just nodded, and Scully nodded as well; Mulder was a bit crazy, but he was always dependable. She trusted her partner absolutely. “That's right. A little wager.”

A shiver ran through the Goblin King at that, and there were softly murmured “ohs,” of appreciation from the audience of eyes in the darkened background. “Mulder,” Scully whispered, leaning in to the man as she watched the shudders run through the King, “What in the heck is going on?”

“Faeries love games, Scully. He can't possibly say no, it's like offering a coke fiend crack.”

“Don't tell me you got this from that book!” she hissed as the fey's strange eyes seemed to briefly glaze over.

“Hey, have I been wrong yet?” Well, what could she say to  _that_ ?

The Goblin King leaned very close to them on rather unsteady feet, licking his lips the way a hungry predator licks its chops. “What sort of wager?” he inquired with a dry throat.

“A game,” Mulder grinned, standing tall with arms crossed over his narrow chest. “You pick the rules, I'll pick the prize.”

“And what  _is_ that prize?” The King stood so close that shafts of his blond hair almost touched the agent's face. “That I may know a proper game to assign to it.”

“ _I'll_ be the prize,” Mulder replied with confidence, gesturing to himself. “You can take me to the Underground – instead of the kids.”

Scully didn't need to roundly scold Mulder for his brazen decision making, the faerie practically did it for him; he leaned back and snorted loudly. “Someone has been spreading rumors about my predilections again. What on earth would I do with  _you_ , Agent Mulder? You're too old to be made a goblin,  _I_ certainly have no interest in you.” The Goblin King's back straightened and he grinned with absolute glee, gaze flicking over to Scully. “Offer me Agent Scully.”

“Excuse me?” Scully did not seem pleased, crossing her arms over her breast.

Mulder was no less pleased. “Scully's not on the table.”

“How can you deny me one so delectable, my dearest Dana?” the King purred in a smooth voice, taking her hand and bringing her pale wrist up to his mouth. “You may think me a brute, I know, but I have  _always_ treated my women well. Besides, there are many kings in the Underground who would simply  _beg_ to have a mortal wife to lavish with affection and to bear their children...”

The woman quickly yanked her wrist away, looking about ready to pull out her firearm and finish what she should have started with an owl in her hotel room. “Thanks if I'm not interested in creating a bunch of goblin babies for you.”

The fey's mouth pursed, his eyes twitched. “Ah, Dana. You are a woman of fierce beauty and fiercer intellect, I have no doubt our affair would be of the most volatile nature – but I'm afraid you misunderstand my offer. While I would be happy to introduce you to many eligible bachelors of the Underground, the crown of the Goblin Queen is already spoken for.”

“And what does your  _wife_ think of you stealing babies?”

The Goblin King waved his hand dismissively with a sigh. “I'm an unmarried man as yet, most delicious Dana mine. But she would scold much as you do. Enough, children, you bore me.” The man adjusted his cape along his shoulders and swept back his sterling mane of hair with one gloved hand. “Your offer is not good enough, Agent Mulder, so I shall create all the rules and name the prize myself.”

“We didn't agree to tha-”

“You proposed the wager, will you back out now?” The King grinned at him with an eery smile. “No, I thought not. Now, I shall give to you both three riddles,” and he held up three fingers on his left hand. “Three. You must solve them before the striking of the thirteenth hour, or the game is forfeit, and I claim  _my_ prize.”

“Which is?” Mulder asked in reply; he didn't like the way this was turning out, but it was true that he had started it, and it was clear that the mystical man before him would not let it lie unfinished.

There was that awful grin again. “I shall ask a favor of you, someday in the future – don't ask me what, that is for me to decide when the time is right. You shall do this service for me without question. And I shall  _bind_ your oath with my magic so that you cannot go back upon your sacred word. Is that clear?”

“And when I win?”

“ _If_ you win.”

“ _When_ I win, what will you give me?”

“Oh,” the Goblin King sighed and went back to looking at his fingertips. “I suppose I could be persuaded to return little Anwer –  _don't_ ask me about the rest of the children,” he warned, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “The bargains were not made with you, and they are already placed in homes far more worthy of them.” The danger in his sharp face changed; he was smiling again, but it was with just as much peril as when he glared. “Unless  _you_ wish to drag them from the arms of the fey families who love and adore them. And if you do, do be my guest.”

When no retort was immediately forthcoming from Mulder, Scully put her two cents in. “What's the thirteenth hour?”

The King was giving his smirking smile, but this one was a little less dangerous, a little more lecherous. “Another excellent question from the  _divine_ Dana.”

“I get the alliteration already.”

“In mortal terms, you might call it the witching hour. Since time runs so much differently here, we'll say it is the minute when midnight becomes one. Does that seem fair?”

“No,” she said with her red lips slightly pursed. “But I don't think we're going to get a better deal than this.”

“How right you are. Now, as I said, I  _do_ have some rather urgent and personal business to which I simply must attend. Your riddle will await you in the morning – so I bid you sleep well! I like my opponents alert and awake, so as to be the better challenge to me. Until the morrow, Little Fox.” He bent over Scully's hand again, and this time let his lips linger far longer than was appropriate. “But call my name if you change your mind on company this evening, my sweet, and I shall be by your side.”

“Don't get your hopes up, Goblin King.”

“Most cruel beloved!” he gave an over-dramatic sigh. “I never do. Adieu, adieu.” Smirking, he stepped back into the shadows, the sea of eyes swarming towards him with that awful, hair-raising chirping sound again, and he seemed to disappear into a puff of smoke or a vein of steam.

Scully rubbed the back of her hand against her suit trousers. “ _What_ just happened?”

“Well, Scully,” Mulder smiled at her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I think we just proved the existence of Goblin Kings.”

 


	5. Chapter Five

Scully had a hard time sleeping that night; she kept dreaming of owls with round crystals for eyes and horrible screeching cries that summoned hordes of little demons – or were they goblins? It didn't much matter, either option brought her awake in a cold sweat. She knocked on Mulder's door in the morning with one hand and stifled a yawn with the other. He looked no better rested than she did, but Scully had the feeling it was because Mulder was never much of a sleeper, and he would not have let such strange dreams bother him.

“What's the story, morning glory?” Fox smiled at her, holding a steaming cup of coffee that Dana very much coveted at that moment. “We hit the breakfast buffet and head into the New York HQ?”

Scully nodded, smoothing back her bob of red hair. “We had a voice mail when we got back last night,” she explained, gathering up her briefcase and walking to the waiting elevator with her partner. “From Agent Arthur Rounds. Apparently he's the one who started working the Ahmed case when it first broke, so he's anxious to talk to us.”

“Uh huh.” Mulder took a sip from his paper cup as the elevator doors slid obligingly open. “And do you think we should tell him a Goblin King took the kids before or after he briefs us?”

Scully gave him a small glare from the corners of her tired, blue eyes. “You know, I'm of the opinion that particular facet of this case shouldn't be brought up at all.”

“Scully,” Mulder scolded as the elevator pulled to a slow stop at the lobby. “Are you suggesting we withhold information from our distinguished colleagues at the New York offices?”

“Mulder, you keep this up, and I'm going to take that crystal of yours and find a way to shove it up your nose.” Mulder laughed, but his ribbing stopped.

 

* * *

 

 

Agent Arthur Rounds had a fitting surname, being rather round in shape himself. His head even suited itself to his name, as the hair loss at the crown of his head gave it a certain roundness, and he possessed round and watery brown eyes. Very middle aged, he looked like the kind of man a midlife crisis was designed for; high strung, twitchy, anxious about his work. It was possible it was the stressors of this particular case, but Scully kind of doubted it.

“So my case notes popped up all the way in Washington?” Rounds was asking as he gave them a very brief tour of the New York FBI headquarters. “Similar modus operandi? I'd hate to think we're dealing with some kind of serial kidnapper here.”

“Agent Rounds,” Mulder replied, casting his eyes all over the drab furnishings of the office. “I think that's  _exactly_ what we're dealing with.”

“You two can use the conference room if you want private offices. I've got the slide projector all set up for my briefing, and then we can discuss what our next move should be.”

Scully opened the thin, pine door the older agent had pointed out, and stopped in her tracks. She almost couldn't believe it. “Mulder.”

The brown haired man popped his head around the jamb of the door and whistled. “Well, I'll be damned. Rounds, we're going to need the private use of this room after all.”

“Well, sure, Agent Mulder, but first, don't you want to-” There was no response, the two had disappeared into the conference room and shut the door. Rounds just gave a heartfelt sigh.

The pair did not need to say a word to know what was going on; a round crystal, just like the one from last night, just like the one from every disappearance, sat innocuously on the conference table top. “You know,” Scully sighed, pulling out a chair for herself as Mulder went to pick the bauble up. “If I reviewed security footage of the building, I bet I wouldn't find any owls popping in with crystals. And this room has no outdoor facing windows.”

“Guess you'll just have to accept that it's magic, Scully,” her partner murmured with a smile, and he tapped his fingers against the glassy surface.

“Good morning, Little Fox, dearest Dana.” It was the King's voice. “Did you pine for me last night, my sweet one? Ah well, we shall have to deny ourselves a little longer. I promised you a riddle, and here it is. Ahem,” he cleared his throat.

“ _Tool of thief, toy of queen_ – remember, that could be you, my dear

_Always used to be unseen_

_Sign of joy, sign of sorrow_

_Giving all a likeness borrowed_ .

“There now. That is your riddle. You find what I mean, and if you use your little heads, you _might_ find another crystal and I might deign speak with you again. Tata, dear children.”

Scully tapped a pencil to her cheek. “Giving all a likeness borrowed...”

“It's eleven o'clock now,” Mulder noted, looking at his watch. “That gives us about fourteen hours to solve this one. That should be  _more_ than enough time to figure this one out.”

“Likeness borrowed...”

Mulder pulled out a pad of legal paper from his briefcase and began to idly run his pen back and forth across the lines. “Something a thief and a queen would both use. Something common. Hey, the Goblin King seems quite taken with  _you_ , Scully.”

“Mulder, I'm trying to think.”

“Trying to think about...where he'd put those gloves? 'Most darling, dearest, most  _delectable_ Dana,'” he purred in his imitation. Even Scully had to laugh.

“You're terrible!”

“No more saying  _I'm_ the dirty one, I'm not the one getting hit on by mythical kings.”

“Let's make something clear,” Scully replied, leaning her round cheek on the ball of her fist. “Whatever that guy is, obviously he's not some Goblin King.”

“I think he might disagree with you there, Scully,” Mulder said, still idly sketching on the pad.

“Mulder, you saw him, his outfit was ridiculous. He looked like Ziggy Stardust on methamphetamines.”

“It was a little out there,” her partner agreed with a nod, not looking up from his doodles.

“I'm sticking with my cult theory, child predation and maybe even sacrifice.” Scully blinked her blue eyes, noticing the way Mulder was suddenly absorbed with the paper. “Mulder?”

The man's lips were just parted, and behind his hazel eyes, there was a sudden, fresh glitter. “It's a mask.”

Scully picked up her head. “What?”

“The answer, it's a mask!” He held up the pad of paper to her and positively glowed with triumph. “Thieves wear masks, a queen can wear a mask, you use it to hide who you are.”

Scully had quickly caught his train of thought, and was soon smiling wildly right back at him. “The comedy and tragedy masks-”

“A borrowed likeness, it's a mask!” Mulder jumped to his feet and pulled open the conference room door. “Rounds!”

Agent Rounds pivoted from his station by the water cooler, looking a bit like a startled deer. “Yeah?”

“We need a list of every mask shop in the city.”

“What?” He blinked his wet, brown eyes. “But don't you want to-”

“ _Now_ , Rounds, it's important.” Scully had already appeared at his side with their cases packed and ready to hit the pavement. They looked so entirely serious and so professional, Arthur couldn't possibly argue with them. 

 

* * *

 

 

Though they were very sure they'd solved the riddle, finding the particular location implied by its answer was not so easy. Mulder and Scully had scoured every mask shop they could find a current address for. When that turned up nothing, they moved on to costume shops and theater troupes – of which there were  _many_ in New York City. Lunch was a sketchy hot dog vendor, because they dared not stop their search for a sit-down meal. The effort was growing exhausting; it was nearly six o'clock, Scully could feel her ankles swelling from all of her walking, and they had yet to find so much as a glimmer of a crystal and not even a single barn owl feather.

“Maybe he's been yanking our chain this whole time,” Scully sighed, and she tried very hard to suppress a yawn. Desperation had driven the partners to a corner antique store, and they perused its wares with tired detachment. “He could just be a lying son of a bitch.”

“Faeries can't lie, Scully,” Mulder replied, his hand hovering over a dish filled with antique buttons.

“Faeries aren't  _real_ , Mulder.”

Fox paused next to the dish of buttons; there were containers of marbles, of brooches, and one full of antique carpenter nails. “Hey,” he addressed the shopkeeper that sat behind the glass counter top, clearly waiting for them to leave so he could close the store. “Are these made of iron?”

“Eh?” The doddering old man lowered his glasses to his nose, quickly looking to see what the whippersnapper was motioning to. “Ah, those. Sure are.”

“How much each?”

The happened to cost three dollars, but for an out-of-towner, there were taxes. “Six bucks.”

“Mulder, you are  _not_ buying old nails.”

Agent Mulder flashed his partner a winning smile and selected a nail from the dish, one that was particularly long with a vicious point. “Trust me, Scully. You're going to thank me for this someday.”

“Exactly  _when_ am I going to thank you for th...” Her voice was lost as she caught sight of a paper flier hanging in the shop window. Without her needing to consciously will it, her feet carried her to the sign, as if she were be-spelled. 

“Scully?” Mulder had handed over the cash and appeared at her shoulder with a mildly worried expression. “What is it?”

“Look,” she pointed. There, in stark black ink on yellow paper, was the ad: The Masquerade Circus, tonight at a local theater in the East Village. Old world, European-style circus entertainment, the banner promised. “I will bet you the six bucks you wasted on that nail that's where we'll find the next clue.”

 

* * *

 

 

Scully just had to laugh when she saw it. Mulder cast her a sidelong glance as he bought their tickets, but all Scully could do was try not to absolutely guffaw. Clowns. A perverse assortment of heads misshapen with silicon, painted in fantastical grinning, howling shapes. Tufts of wild, multicolored hair, clothing ripped straight from the most antique of nightmares.

Clowns. It was almost too much.  _He thinks he's going to stop me with my childhood fear of clowns_ . 

“Well, Agent Scully?” Mulder sighed as he handed her her ticket, digging into his pocket with his free hand to retrieve a fistful of sunflower seeds. “Do you see any masks?”

Scully carefully scanned the wild and chaotic theater, searching closely. “There,” she said, pointing out the ring leader's scantily clad assistant. She most definitely wore a white satin mask, tassels dripping from the ridge of the cheeks. She moved to approach the young woman, but was stopped by one of the many terrible clowns, this one on a pair of stilts with a dog wearing a tutu following behind on his hind feet.

“Lovely lady!” the harlequin grinned at her with a painted mouth, holding out a bouquet of wildly colored silk flowers. “Answer my riddle and I'll give you your dearest wish!”

Scully stared him down (despite having to look  _up_ ) with a hostility the performer was definitely  _not_ used to. “I've answered my quota of riddles for the day.”

“She really has,” Mulder nodded, holding a seed out to the dog, who was far too well trained to be distracted.

“No flowers, then? What about...” He shook his fist, and the silk flowers became silk handkerchiefs instead, a long rainbow of color he pulled from his fingers, sight unseen. Scully was not moved. “Well then...” The clown rolled the silk into a ball in his fist, closing his fingers tight around it and opened his hand again to reveal-

“Hey!” Scully reached for him, a sharp look in her blue eyes.

The performer pulled the crystal back with a wickedly cunning little smile. “Prizes for riddles, lovely lady! At night they come without being fetched,” he began in a sing-song voice while the dog spun in slow circles on his hindquarters. “By day they are lost without being stolen. What are they?”

Scully huffed, her hands making fists at the sway of her hips. She was getting sick of all this game playing... “...the stars,” she at last decided with a firm nod of her head. Mulder seemed to like the answer, he chewed his snack thoughtfully.

The clown seemed downright disappointed, hand out with his glittering bauble. “Correct...”

Scully wasted no time in snatching it from him, racing out the door with Mulder hot on her heels! “Think I should ask the Goblin King to recoup the ticket price?” he said to her as they reached the cooler atmosphere of the street curb.

“Sh,” his partner scolded, stroking her painted thumb along the glossy surface of the bubble.

“You did better than I expected,  _if_ you've come this far.” The mocking voice of the Goblin King again. Scully's eyes narrowed and she tightened her grip on the crystal. “Don't bother interrogating the poor fellow, he had a  _geis_ on him, only doing what I asked. But as his riddle no doubt told you, I'm star gazing. Come and find me at the Century Theater – that's Jamaica, Queens, dear children. Oh, and you might care to bring protection. It can be a rough neighborhood.” She could swear she could hear the low, tenor chuckle of his throat when the message stopped, and Scully felt the uncharacteristic urge to throw the orb straight to the ground and watch it shatter.

Mulder, however, was calm, and his steadiness soothed her as he smiled at her and hailed a cab – without any baiting of Goblin Kings this time. “More theater visits for us, Scully.” The yellow taxi cab pulled up before them and he opened the door. “Ready?”

Scully at last smiled, slipping the crystal into her jacket pocket. “Ready and waiting.” They got into the cab together.

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem quoted here is, of course, "She Walks in Beauty," by George Gordon, Lord Byron.

It was after ten o'clock by the time the federal agents at last pulled in front of the decaying Century Theater. This off-off-Broadway playhouse had perhaps never seen better days, but it did bear its own small marquee. Scully didn't even glance at what might be playing or its advertised stars, her blue eyes scanning endlessly for her foe. The building had a squat roof, as the stage itself was in the basement, and the outside was painted a striking, but not attractive, aquamarine. Even in the dark of the fall night, it stood out like a sore thumb. “Scully.” Mulder had found their quarry first, and he pointed out the only sign of him to her: a shock of white blond hair could just be seen on the roof of the old theater, nearly blending in with the city skyline.

“If he makes us buy another ticket to get in...” she started with a growl, her hand unconsciously going to her pocket and tightening around the crystal that sat there.

Mulder laughed a little. “I think I saw some utility stairs on the side of the building, come on, we'll check it out.” The older agent had been right, a set of wooden steps that desperately needed to be sealed and painted took them straight up to the rooftop, a flat surface strewn with pebbles and the occasional bit of garbage. And the Goblin King? He was glued to the side of the rooftop, hands tight around the gutter railing like the claws of a bird of prey, staring down into the side alley of the theater below him. “Goblin King-” Mulder began, but he was immediately cut off by a wave of the fey creature's gloved hand.

“Shut up!” he commanded in a hiss, and Scully at last noticed that his shadowy companions were still with him; unseen shapes in the darkness, just a sense of heat and heaviness the only give away of their presence at all. She could not see any peering yellow eyes this time – and for that, she was rather quietly grateful – and it seemed that they all stared with just as much intensity at the spot where their King's strange eyes were fixed.

Both Mulder and Scully did not lean quite so far over the building as the fey man did, but they  _did_ look to see what had him so enraptured: a small crowd of dedicated theater fans had gathered at the stage door, murmuring contentedly amongst themselves and comparing their feelings on the performance. Autograph seekers, it seemed, or just true theatrical enthusiasts. In a moment, the door opened, and two women stepped out – one older, one younger, one fair, one dark-haired. It was the older blonde who garnered more attention for herself, but the young brunette seemed to have a small and devoted fan-base as well, and she spent a few moments talking with various people; the tinkling sound of her laughter could be heard all the way to the rooftop, and she even stopped to snap a photo with one happy fan. This done, though, she slipped away into the darkness.

No sooner had she done so but the Goblin King snapped his fingers, and one shadowy creature detached itself from its fellows to come close to his liege. The King muttered something in a language Scully had never before heard, nor its facsimile, and with a nod, the little creature scuttled away into the dark and followed the girl. Mulder's brow furrowed, but the faerie creature was sighing, leaning even farther over the gutter now.

“She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes.”

Thus quoting, the Goblin King turned, so that his elbows rested against the side of the roof and he was sprawled in elegant repose. He was wearing those same tight pants again, this time in pale, smokey grey (they really were way too tight, Scully noted while trying  _not_ to), and his booted legs were crossed at the ankle. “It's Byron, Agent Mulder,” the King purred. “A little culture may aid you in your own endeavors with the fairer sex,” and he glanced obviously and pointedly at Scully.

Agent Scully didn't appreciate the notice, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Listen. I'm not playing this game with you. We solved the riddle, I want Anwer back  _now_ , and then we can continue.”

The fey king smiled brightly at her, with just a hint of malice, and very smoothly and simply replied, “No.”

“This is  _sick._ You claim you're saving these children that get wished away, but what about the destruction you leave in your wake? You didn't have to watch Trent Breckinridge crying his eyes out!”

The Goblin King was to his feet in an instant, looming over Agent Scully, though the exact moment he'd gotten up from his lounging position was impossible to pin down. “You think little Trent was crying because he missed his sister? Save your wrath, my sweet, it's wasted on his account.” Around him, the shadows giggled menacingly. “Trent Breckinridge has never thought of a single soul once in his short life, either before or after he wished young Courtney away; he weeps because he sees how easily she was forgotten, and is afraid he will be forgotten as well.”

“That's supposed to make me feel better?”

“You are a woman of the world, Agent Scully.” He gave a broad, leering smile that seemed to show all of his sharp teeth. “Surely by now you must know how fleeting human love is.”

“What?” Scully could hardly believe she was hearing this.

“Such  _devotion_ you mortals claim to feel: brothers and sisters, parents and children, lover to lover. Yet look at your divorce rates. Look how  _easily_ my magic erases all thoughts of love from mortal minds. I don't even have to  _try_ . What you pathetic little humans claim to be everlasting love is nothing but a game.”

Mulder's eyes were difficult to see in the dark, but Scully thought she caught a spark in them when he spoke. “And I suppose  _you_ know something about love, Goblin King?”

As if recognizing a challenge, the King glared at his opponent. “You both agreed to my terms. I was  _generous_ in showing myself tonight, it may never happen again. If you want Anwer back, then you had best follow through on your word. Two more riddles, two more days.”

“This is ludicrous!” Scully shouted, unable to control her temper any longer.

“This is life, sweet Scully,” the Fey Lord smiled, tucking two fingers beneath her chin before she viciously yanked her head back. “Not moved by my offer still? Oh well. I am a busy man. You'll have your next riddle in the morning, as promised.” With no more warning than that, the creature had disappeared into the night, followed by his shadowy horde. Scully was furious, but Mulder tore back down the utility steps with the speed and grace of his namesake.

Scully followed, but much more slowly and with more measured steps, watching as Mulder dug through a trash bin by the stage door. “Mulder,  _what_ -”

“Playbill, Scully.” He held up the dog eared program with a grinning smile. “Curious about tonight's performance.”

“You were so curious you dug in the trash?”

“Uh huh!” He flipped the thing open, scanning quickly until he seemed to find what he was looking for, for his smile widened. “Listen, I have this idea I want to work on back at the FBI headquarters. Let's share a cab and get you back to the hotel.”

“No, I'll go with you. What's your idea?”

“It's a solo job, Scully, promise. All boring document work.”

“Mulder, what is it?”

But the man had already hailed a cab and was holding the door open for her. “Scully,” he clucked his tongue. “When are you ever going to trust me?”

 

* * *

 

 

 

The crystal was waiting for them in the conference room the next morning. Mulder and Scully didn't even say good morning to Rounds before shutting the door and touching this one off. The Goblin King was apparently not much in the mood for games this morning, for he started in almost straight away. “You are both making a terrible mistake in engaging with me. Let me see if I cannot convince you of that this time. Ahem.  _Feed me and I live. Give me drink and I die. What am I_ ? Do take care, Agent Scully. And I suppose you as well, Little Fox.” And with that, the message was concluded.

“What does he mean, convince us?” Scully asked, tapping her pencil along the conference table. “This one isn't even hard. It's a fire.”

Mulder was smiling, but it was weakly, and it seemed designed to cover up his spat of nerves. “It's suitably vague, you have to admit. I don't even know where we'd start on this one.”

“Specialty shops that deal in fireplaces and wood stoves, perhaps?” Scully smiled sympathetically at her partner, laying her hand over his. “Mulder, don't worry. We'll find the answer, same as before.”

“Right.” Mulder stood, though he let her hand travel with his as he did so. “...I really don't like fire, Scully.”

“I know. But I won't let you put yourself in any danger, you know that.”

The man's smile gained a little strength, and he started for the door, gathering their cases with him. Agent Rounds perked up when they exited the conference room, but Mulder quickly cut him off. “We're on it today, Rounds.”

“Of course, but Agent Mulder – Agent Scully – don't you want to at least hear-”

“Later, Rounds,” she agreed, following Mulder to the exit. “We're on a time limit here.”

“A time limit?” he murmured as he watched them go. Just what did they know that he didn't?

 

* * *

 

 

If the Goblin King meant to dissuade them by sheer tedium and frustration, he was making a good start of it. Mulder and Scully had started their search before ten in the morning. It was now nearly eleven at night. They had gone to every hardware store, ever fireplace shop in the city of eight million people. They had gone to street corners to see fire eaters perform, they had even stopped by fire stations, and still there was nothing. Scully just grit her teeth and doubled her determination. They could not give up on young Anwer. They had until, what was it that the Goblin King had called it? The witching hour? Well, maybe about two more hours. They were both exhausted. Mulder's dry humor had entirely run out and they walked in stony silence but to mutter about where they might try next.

Even with her grit, Scully found herself sitting at an outdoor cafe table long since abandoned by other consumers, down the long stretch of Lexington at Second Avenue. Mulder collapsed across from her as she massaged her temples and dreamed of tropical vacations far away from men in tights. “He really is a cheating bastard,” she spoke in a breathy sigh, eyes closed. It felt like the longest day of her life. Suppose they did beat this riddle – and the possibility was dwindling with each tick on her watch face – what would await them tomorrow? This was enough of a nightmare, but there was still one more to go.

“Scully,” Mulder sighed, massaging his spasming calves, “maybe you can shove the crystal up his nose instead of mine.”

Scully gave a dry, humorless laugh, her throat parched. “I'm going to shove it someplace, but it's going to be way worse than his nose.” Suddenly, a thought struck her, and she opened her tired eyes to peer at her partner. “Mulder,” she asked him, which made him respond with a beat grunt. “What was it you went to work on last night?”

“Oh, that?” Mulder sighed and switched to his other leg, wincing at the pain that shot through his exhausted muscles. “Just a little idea of mine, Scully, that's all. It didn't go anywhere.”

“But what was it?”

Mulder was saved having to answer by the fact that a bright red fire engine went screaming down Lexington as fast as its wheels could turn. The sirens blaring, the lights on, fire crew hanging off its sides in a desperate grip, it was a vehicle on a mission. The two agents caught each other's eyes and stared for one long, knowing moment – before they both clambered to their feet and went tearing off in the direction the engine had gone.

Lucky for their fatigued bodies, the engine came to a stop just a few long blocks away, but they both strained just slightly for breath. It wasn't  _just_ a fire that the crew was responding to: oh no, it was a raging inferno that threatened to subsume an entire building in its bright orange flames. It made Scully gasp to see it, something out a hellish nightmare, and she just caught sight of Mulder's jaw working nervously from the corner of her eye as the fire burned. 

Yet, despite his perfectly rational misgivings, Agent Mulder began to take a step toward the building. Scully instantly shot out a hand to stop him. “Mulder, don't be an idiot! The fire crews will have it all under control, we can look then.”

“How long will that take, Scully?” he asked her, turning a serious, intense green eyed gaze on her. Her fingers loosened slightly on his arm, but she would not let go. “It's past eleven now. We can't afford to wait.”

He started for a side door, but Scully grabbed him harder. “You are  _not_ going in there!”

“Scully,” her partner sighed, pulling her hand off his arm. “Are you ever going to trust me?” Thus saying, he began walking toward the flaming door that a few of the fire crew had charged into. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, taking a quick gulp of painfully hot air. “I really hate fire...”

“ _Mulder_ !” But it was too late, he had gone into the building, while huge hoses sprayed blasts of water at the crackling, buckling structure. Scully was too quick thinking to stand there dumbly while her partner committed suicide, however; the woman ran to a waiting fire marshal, her hair matching the wild color of the building behind her. “Excuse me!” She flashed her badge as the man tried to wave her off. “I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, my partner Fox Mulder was conducting an investigation in this building earlier. I want to know if-”

“Sorry, ma'am!” The fire marshal had to shout above the noise of hurrying feet, of spraying water, of licking flames. “We're working on containing the blaze now! A few men have gone inside, but it's too soon to tell if there are any-”

The shouted exchange was interrupted by a crashing sound; part of the facade of the building had collapsed in on itself. Scully dove for the ground, covering her head with her hands as the marshal similarly covered her.  _Damn it, Mulder, if that fire doesn't kill you, I_ -

Before she could worry too much about it, she saw two suited fire fighters stumbling out of the building, dragging a smoke-colored object behind them, man shaped and dragging on the ground. Scully shot to her feet and made to race over, but the marshal grabbed her as EMT workers moved in instead. It was definitely Mulder, she could tell as he was laid out against a waiting ambulance with an oxygen mask soon pressed against his face. The marshal couldn't stop her from going to him now, though, and she ran to the man and fell to her knees in front of him. “Mulder!”

Mulder smiled around the mask at her, lifting it just off his mouth to wheeze, “Hey, Scully. Miss me already?”

“You  _idiot_ !” She danced around EMTs that took his vitals so that his face was never out of her view. When they had stopped moving around, she bent over him again, brushing his dark hair out of his smudged and sweating face. “What would I do if something happened to you, huh?”

“It's not as bad as it looks,” he assured her, carefully holding out his palm where a smokey ball rested quietly. Scully's eyes widened, but she said nothing – he'd found the crystal. Without another word, he slipped it back into his singed pockets.

“It's true,” a medical worker assured with a nod, checking his pulse. “He's damn lucky the fire crews found him when they did. He has some smoke inhalation, he'll have a cough and it wouldn't be a bad idea to spend a few hours in the hospital-”

“No way.” Mulder began to struggle to his feet, but Scully planted her hands firmly on his shoulders and held him down. “I'm going back to the hotel.”

The EMT shrugged. “I'm not arguing with you. We're going to have our hands full with this. In any case, your life isn't in any immediate danger. Someone's looking out for you, it seems.”

When Mulder could breathe without too much difficulty, when the EMT was satisfied he wasn't going to collapse, Scully carefully wrapped his arm around her neck and helped him hobble down the street until she could flag down a passing cab. “That was  _damn_ stupid, Mulder,” she scolded him once he was settled into the cab seat, pressing her palm against his forehead and looking carefully into his greyed eyes. “What am I going to say at your funeral, did you ever stop to think of that?”

“Well, Scully,” he smiled weakly, but with a distinct pleasure in his dark eyes. “I suppose you'd say there's no such thing as Goblin Kings.”

“I would, too, you know,” she grumbled as the taxi pulled to a stop in front of the Starwood. Scully was careful in pulling him out and leading him to the waiting elevator, while staff murmured about their bedraggled appearance. Even so, she jostled him just slightly, so he could learn a little bit of a lesson. “You just think of that next time you go charging into burning buildings.”

Mulder gave a coughing laugh in the elevator, stumbling along to the door of thirteen-seven without her assistance. “I promise I'll go right to bed.”

“We should have gone to the doctor. Who knows what kind of chemicals you inhaled.”

“You're a doctor, Scully. Do you think I'm in danger?”

“In danger of driving me off the edge? Definitely.”

Mulder just smiled at her, that devastating, charming smile of his, the smile that was warm like sunshine and just so comfortable. “You can always stay in my room while I sleep.”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you.”

“I dunno, would you?”

“I hope you do wake up dead, you insufferable man.” But she smiled when she said it and opened the door to her own room. Mulder disappeared through his own threshold, and Dana made a concerted effort to relax slightly. It was hardly the most foolhardy thing Mulder had ever done since she'd known him. It wasn't even the stupidest. Perhaps someone was looking out for him – well, she was, at the very least.

Scully sighed, rubbing at her stiff shoulders and kicking the shoes off her aching feet. She was going to soak in a hot bath, crawl into bed, and perhaps never wake up again. At least, that had been her plan, until she opened her red-rimmed eyes and noticed the fruit basked sitting patiently on the hotel room dresser. “What...?” It was a beautiful thing, a white wicker basket with a soft, red ribbon, its bowl brimming with colorful mangoes, apples, pears, nectarines, plums, apricots; Scully plucked the stationary card off its side and opened it up. “'Dear Agent Scully,'” she murmured aloud to her empty room. “'We at the Starwood are deeply upset by what transpired in your room last night. Please accept this token of our apology. If we can do anything to make your stay a more comfortable one...'” She dropped off after that, laying the card back on top of the walnut dresser. An apology? Well, after the state her room had been in, she certainly deserved one. Scully's small, white fingers played over the surface of a nectarine. It was smooth and soft to the touch, and despite the season long being over, it had a most heavenly smell that stormed her senses and made her lips part with a sigh of longing. “What the hell,” she smiled to herself, pulling out the fruit and carefully and gently washing it in the bathroom sink. “I could stand a treat, after everything I've been through.” Settling onto the comfortable bed, she bit down softly into the tender, yielding flesh of the fruit, letting the tangy juices dribble down her lips and slip over her tongue.

No sooner had she begun to enjoy her fruit than she felt herself falling back onto the pillows. Or was she staying still, and the world falling down?

 


	7. Chapter Seven

“ _Happy birthday, Dana_!”

Her house, back in Washington: balloons and streamers in a rainbow of bright, primary colors. Her favorite songs were playing on the radio, her table had been pushed to the wall and covered with a feast for a buffet, and everywhere around her were faces she knew, treasured, cared for.

“Happy birthday, Starbuck.” It was her father's smooth, comforting voice at her ear as the revelers resumed their quite, contented murmurs, as glasses and plates and forks and knives tinkled with the sounds of their use. William Scully, Sr. had his arm around his youngest daughter's shoulders, his smile quiet and patient. “Your mother and I are so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Captain,” the woman replied, accepting the slice of cake her mother offered her with a tender smile.

“I mean it. Joining the FBI was the smartest thing you ever did.”

Dana choked on the moist bite of chocolate cake for a moment. That wasn't... “You think so?” Why did her head feel so heavy? The corners of her vision seemed blurred, as though waves of heat would occasionally overcome her senses. Scully just shook her head to clear it. One glass of birthday champagne too many, it seemed.

“Absolutely. Look at the career you've made for yourself, the people you've been helping – the way you stand out from the pack. You're everything you wanted to be.”

There was that throbbing again. Scully set her paper plate down on the table and tried very hard to smile. “I guess I am.”

“Where's that handsome man of yours, Dana?” Margaret Scully was asking, pressing a very liberal scoop of mint chip onto her daughter's plate. “What's the point in bagging the man if you always let him get away?”

Scully laughed a little, brushing her soft, red hair out of her round face. “He's around here someplace...”

“Certainly he wants to celebrate your birthday with you, doesn't he?”

“Now Margaret, maybe he wants to discuss that  _privately_ .”

“I'll go find him,” their daughter assured them. “Daddy, you go ahead and have my cake. I'll eat another slice later.”

“Dana, it's  _your_ birthday cake!”

“The ice cream will melt,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand, heading for her kitchen. “I'll get some later, promise,” and she disappeared round the corner. It was surprisingly quiet in her kitchen, almost a relief from the buzzing noise of the rest of her party. Her head was still throbbing a little, had she been up too late last night? Worked on her files a little too long? She thought the small kitchen had been empty of other party goers, but she could see now it was not – across the room, facing away from her,  _he_ was there. She could make out the messy fall of his dark hair, the broad sweep of his shoulders, one large hand playing absentmindedly with the neck of a flute of champagne. Dana smiled a little, quietly, to herself. “Hey.” He turned, and Scully almost took a step back. “Mulder?”

“'Mulder?'” It was most definitely her partner, his full lips had the same lopsided smile, the same puppy dog charm as he crossed the kitchen to slip his hands around the strong line of her waist. “I thought you were going to call me 'Fox' in private?”

She wasn't sure why she felt startled, she only knew she did. It was so right, but also so not. Scully's logical mind grasped at logical straws. “You don't even like your first name.”

“I like it when you say it...” His voice was a low murmur, his soft lips very close to her flushing skin. So very gently, Fox pressed his mouth to the sensitive skin below and behind her ear in a painfully tender kiss. “Hey yourself, birthday girl.”

_Why are my hands shaking like this...?_

“Mulder – Fox,” the words felt good to say, but they seemed the wrong shape as they fit in her mouth. Something just wasn't  _correct_ . “I feel like...like the world is spinning around in a circle.”

“I feel that way, too.” He drew her closer to him, the heat of his body was  _incredible_ , and she felt the strong bone of Mulder's cheek press into the top of her head. Unconsciously, Scully's fingers wound into the fabric of his shirt and she didn't want to let go. “Anytime I'm with you.”

“That's very romantic...” she murmured, breathing in his scent like spice and paper. “But it's not quite what I meant.”

Fox pulled back slightly, running his thumb to rest at the point of her chin, dark gaze focusing on her lips and eyes and back again. “What  _did_ you mean?”

Dana found her eyes were equally focused on the shape of Mulder's mouth, and her breath came from parted lips. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts. “There was a...a case, we were working on a case together.”

Mulder just laughed, drawing her head to rest beneath his chin. “We're  _always_ working on a case, Scully. It's your birthday. Let one day be about you, give yourself a break for just  _one_ day.”

She felt her blue eyes growing very heavy, their lids threatening to close. “I...I do want to...”

“Why shouldn't you?” Mulder was drawing his hand softly over her hair in a stroking gesture, it made Scully mold herself even closer to his body. “You deserve it.”

“Yes, but...” She sighed, her head resting on his strong chest. “There's so much to do.”

“It'll be there when you're done.”

“I feel like...if I rest now, I'll never stop.”

“Would that be so terrible?” Scully stiffened, struggling to pull away and look at this man's face, but his arms held her in a tight circle. “If we were doing it together?”

“Yes.” She slid her hands up to rest on his pecs and pushed  _hard –_ just enough to separate herself from him, just quickly enough to see a flash of blue in Mulder's eyes, where there absolutely was none. “It would.” Mulder had never seemed dangerous to her before, too well-meaning, too devoted to ever cause her any harm; but he felt that way to her now, and it made Scully set the line of her jaw in a hard look. “None of this is real, is it?”

 

* * *

 

 

Mulder had a secret weapon, one he'd carefully collected from yesterday's hot dog vendor while Scully had been busy fussing with the relish: three packets of salt, iodized. His lips were chapped, his eyebrows were singed, but Mulder tapped the small white squares against the pad of his index finger and smiled to hear the soft shuffling of the condiment inside. This would have to be carefully done, he hummed to himself, loosening his probably ruined tie and slipping out of his scuffed dressed shoes. His appearance really didn't bother him. He was exhausted and elated simultaneously, and it was with the greatest of care that he shut himself into the pristine bathroom and slowly made a circle of salt on the marble tiles – just big enough for a man to stand in, no bigger.

The slightly paranoid agent felt for the iron carpentry nail in his jacket pocket; it hadn't left his side since he'd acquired it, and he didn't intend to part with it now. Mulder sank to the floor, running dry hands through slicked hair and crossing his legs to sit carefully next to his ring of salt. That sly, full smile did not leave his lips as he whispered oh so calmly, “I wish the King of the Goblins would come to this spot right  _here_ ,” and he indicated within the circle with his index finger, “ _right now_ .” There was no flourish to this entrance – the air was simply empty one moment, then full of tall, slender, immortal men the next. The Goblin King was dressed more casually this time around, with a white silk shirt that lay open to his chest, cuffs that dripped lace hanging from his thin wrists. His still tight pants were fawn colored and matched rubbed suede boots, and he adjusted cream colored gloves around his fingers, looking very irritated. Mulder just grinned. “I really didn't think that would work.”

“Yes, well,” the King sniffed, casting a critical gaze around the washroom. “You used the right words, Little Fox, and I didn't happen to be pressingly busy at the moment.” His mismatched eyes then caught sight of the line of white powder at his foot, and he nudged it with his toe, lip curling in a sneer. “Salt, Agent Mulder? Why not just wear garlic around your neck and wield a crucifix if you wanted to insult me?”

“Salt stops faeries,” Mulder replied easily, struggling to his aching feet. He tried not to betray his shock when the fey creature stepped easily over the line of salt, but the Goblin King smirked at him wickedly, so it must have shown on his face.

“It blocks  _magic_ , Little Fox,” he corrected, his grin now bearing his sharp teeth. “It does not block my power to walk over it.”

“Damn.” Mulder smiled more weakly now, opening the bathroom door so he might collapse on the edge of his bed, trying to suppress the cough that burned in his lungs like the smoke of the fire. “Guess you can't believe everything you read, can you?”

“Quite.” The King observed his opponent's folding onto the bed, and quietly selected an armchair to lounge in himself; he did not sit properly, of course, instead electing to swing one leg over the arm and gaze critically at Mulder across from him. “Just yourself to harass me this evening? No desirous Dana?”

“What, not delicious, delectable, darling, dearest-”

“She is all these things, of course,” the fey dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I didn't think flattery was necessary  _outside_ of her presence.”

“Afraid it's just me,” Mulder replied with a tired smirk, his wrists resting on the bends of his knees so that his hands hung limply beside him.

“Yes, well, perhaps it's for the best.” The Goblin King pressed the back of his hand to his thin mouth in a long yawn. “It gets tiresome watching you two drool over each other without acting upon it.”

Mulder raised a thick eyebrow at that remark. “'Drool?'”

“I am not a fool, Agent Mulder,” the King replied, borrowing the agent's smirk. “I was giving pleasure to young women when your ancestors were struggling through their marital duties. I can see what goes on betwixt you and Agent Scully better than you can.”

“Yeah, well,” Mulder sighed, leaning back against a stack of pillows, incredibly weary. “That just makes you old  _and_ a pervert.”

The faerie man lifted his lips over the sharp points of his teeth, half a smile, half a snarl. “How does the saying go? It takes one to know one? Besides,” he purred, sharp, beak-like nose high in the air. “What purpose is served by all this self-denial? Why this unresolved sexual tension between you and Agent Scully? If you want the woman, then take her. That is how a man does it, is that not so?”

“Forgive me if I don't take advice from an immortal being who fell in love with a teenager.” Bingo. It was just the reaction Mulder had been hoping for, and he had to work hard to keep his conservative smile from becoming a full grown grin. The Goblin King had jumped to his feet, but this FBI agent wasn't intimidated. Oh no, he was quite elated, and he pressed on in a smooth, unflagging voice. “Or was she even pubescent when you met her? Was she Trent or Serena's age? Just how low  _do_ you go, Goblin King?” 

The King's claw-like hands were fists on the bed, and he leaned over Mulder in a feral snarl. For his part, Mulder did not lean back, just let the man get as close as he damn well liked, and he managed to not even flinch. “If you are implying about my nature what I  _think_ you are, I would be  _wary_ were I you. It is blasphemy that you even dare to bring  _her_ up, and if you think I will allow it, you are  _sadly_ mistaken.”

“She's the one that beat your Labyrinth, isn't she?” This close, Mulder could see a rainbow of different emotions run riotous through the fey's strange eyes. “How did she do it?”

The Goblin King snorted, drawing back and trying to smooth himself over after his show of temper. “Agent Mulder,” he scolded in a laughing tone of voice. “You'll forgive me if I don't tell you  _that_ .” 

“ You know how these kids suffer. She must have been miserable for that thirteen hours-”

“Actually, _she_ had ten.” The Goblin King smirked. “Don't ask, though it is _highly_ amusing.”

Mulder's hazel eyes just narrowed. “Can  _you_ really claim to know what love is, Goblin King? More so than mortals do?”

“Can't I?” His mirth was gone, his cream colored glove was tightened into a harsh fist at this reprimand. A steely fire blazed in unearthly eyes, and the King _seethed_ his outrage. “Your declarations of endless eternities of love are _meaningless_. Your love ends with nothing but the grave – and what little qualms you make about taking another once they are gone. You love _everything_ ; you love your coffee, you love your pets, you love your _shoes_. You _ruin_ the very notion of the feeling.” The fey seemed to grow in size somehow, his presence expanded in the hotel room until everything felt stuffy and overwhelmed. He leaned over Mulder, trapped on the bed, and nearly dripped with angry spittle. “If _she_ were mine, I would not give her _death_ – I would give her _life_ , an eternity to rule in power and dignity! Little concept for you of how _precious_ this gift is, yet I would not _hesitate_ to bestow it if she asked, I would chain my very noble self to her and be made low for that _awful_ girl! My humiliation by her is complete! And I cannot even muster the decency to _hate_ her for it. Do you know what she wishes for tonight, snuggled safely in her little bed in that drab apartment of hers?” Mulder was unsure if he was supposed to answer that, but it didn't really matter, for the Goblin King was pointing out the window in what must be her direction, pacing the room like a man unhinged; and he did not just pace the floors. In his agitation, he walked the walls, he walked the _ceilings_. Mulder had to gape at that. “That cruel, _horrible_ girl lazily dreams of some distant, imagined paramour overcome with his love for her, so that he goes to her every performance and is too lovesick to even speak to her. She finds the notion _romantic_ ,” and here he did spit, apparently finding the words disgusting on his tongue. In another moment, his smooth glove ran through his wild hair and shivers ran through his body. “ _And she gets it_. Anything she wants, I give to her. That is how _thorough_ my defeat is, the King of Dreams, a Lord in the Underground _sighing_ over that _ridiculous_ girl and her lights and her costumes and her makeup. I _disgust_ myself.”

His rage spent, the King dropped from the ceiling to the floor, landing perfectly in the arm chair he'd only just left. Mulder had to work very hard to recover his composure, to make it seem like he'd never been flabbergasted at all by this tirade. The man cleared his scratchy, sore throat and said, “Something you needed to get off your chest?” The fey fixed him with an icy hot glare from cold blue eyes, and Mulder was wise enough not to smile this time. “That thing you sent after her last night, on the roof top. What did it do?”

“It _did_ nothing.” The Goblin King was slowly, very slowly, calming down, and he smoothed back his shock of sterling hair. “It was there to ensure nothing _did_ happen. I know what evil lurks in the hearts of men, Agent Mulder. Your precious Dana may upbraid me for my conduct in this world, but what I do to mortals comes not within a hair's breadth of what you do to _each other_.”

Mulder's brow furrowed slightly. “Can we leave Scully out of this, please?”

The King smiled at last, a small smile, a private one. “I'm afraid not.”

“Okay? Why's that?”

“Dear Dana drifts away in a land of dreams – quite boring ones, too.”

Despite the protest of his muscles, the comment was frightening enough to drive Mulder from the comfort of his bed. “What did you do to her?”

“Me?” He touched the tips of his gloved fingers to his chest and failed at giving an innocent look. “Nothing! Directly.”

“ _Scully_!” Without hesitation, Mulder threw open his hotel room door and ran for his partner's, not even listening for the sound of cruel, mirthless laughter in his room that faded along with the presence of the Goblin King.

 

 


	8. Chapter Eight

“ _Scully_!” Mulder had fully intended to break down the door, but he remembered he had Scully's spare hotel room key, the same as she had his, and he had the presence of mind to use it rather than add to their hotel bill. The woman lay in a heap on the floor, as if she had collapsed where she stood rather than choosing this particular spot out for herself. Her hair made a red fan around her pale face, and rolled a few inches from her limp hand lay a nectarine with a single bite taken from its flesh. Mulder was over his partner in a moment, shaking her shoulder and face by turns. “Scully! Hey, _Scully_!” Damn him, if the Goblin King had done something to hurt her- “Dana Catherine Scully, if you don't wake up, I _will_ dump cold water on you and take pictures for the guys at the office.”

A groan escaped Agent Scully's pale lips. “Wher...”

“ Scully,  _wake up_ .” Mulder held her round face between his hands and watched her foggy, blue eyes slowly open. His shoulders sagged with some relief. “Oh, jeez, thank Christ...”

His relief was short lived. “Who are you...” she murmured, her lips barely working as she spoke. Mulder's eyes briefly widened as he tried to tap down on the panic rising within him.

“ Scully, it's me. Fox Mulder, I'm your  _partner_ , remember?”

“ Remember...” Something she was supposed to remember...the party, he was there, but not – same lips, same nose, not the same eyes. And she was supposed to be working on... “The case.” Scully groaned again and Mulder pulled her close to his body. He still smelled like clove and paper. “Anwer, the kid, Mulder, where is he...”

“ You scared the  _hell_ out of me,” he hissed, managing to get her into a sitting position on the floor. “What happened!”

“ I...” Scully's head was still pounding, but her gaze wasn't quite so foggy as before. She cast a slow glance around the room, still held tightly in Mulder's arms – and spied the nectarine laying on the floor with the mark of her teeth. “The fruit basket. Mulder, bag that nectarine.”

Mulder did not let his partner go for a minute, not until he felt comfortable maneuvering her onto the bed and retrieving a plastic bag from her case. “Did you have anything else?”

“ No, just that, but I washed it. There shouldn't have been anything on it.”

“ We'll run it at the HQ tomorrow,” he assured her, dropping it back onto the dresser next to the other traitorous fruits and stretching out next to her on the double bed. “I think we're getting close and he doesn't like it, Scully.”

“ What makes you say that?” she murmured with closed eyes, trying to fight the pounding in her skull.

“ Well, he poisoned you, for one thing. He showed up in my room, for another, and he nearly was out of his head.” Better not to mention the ring of salt and the baiting questions. Those could wait until his partner was better rested – or even for never.

“ We're going to win, Mulder.” Her voice was quiet, her eyes were closed, but there was an intensity about Scully that made Mulder smile all the same.

“ Did you ever doubt that?”

With great determination, the woman's eyes opened and she turned her head to face him, a strong smile on her red lips. “Never.”

 

* * *

 

 

The last two days had taken their toll on the two federal agents. They were absolutely silent when they walked into the FBI offices the next morning, and Scully only spoke to have her suspicious nectarine examined by a lab technician. Agent Rounds was going out of his head, pulling at what sparse hair he had left. All the same, they ignored him. They were too close now, just  _one more effort_ and maybe then it would all be worthwhile. Mulder's hand rested on the knob of the conference room door. His eyes met Scully's.

“ I'm ready,” she assured him with a strong nod of her head – and he nodded in return and opened the door.

The crystal was there alright, though its surface seemed less glassy today, more foggy and opaque. Mulder did not hesitate, he crossed the room and seized it tightly in his left hand, squeezing fit to break it. “There is no riddle here today, my children.” The two exchanged nervous glances at the Goblin King's voice. Surely he wouldn't...after everything they'd come through so far- “You may rest those anxious looks, I haven't given up my half of the game just yet. Let it never be said I am a sore winner. No, I've merely moved the location. I know how  _tired_ you pups must be, so I ever obligingly changed venues. Return to your hotel and the game will conclude – for good or for ill. I shall see you very – well, not  _very –_ shortly.” And his voice stopped. Mulder and Scully just looked one another carefully in the eye. 

Without a moment's pause, they strode back out the conference room door, Agent Rounds hot on their heels. “Agent Mulder, Agent Scully!”

“ Not now, Rounds,” the woman dismissed this time, waving at him with her white hand. “We're off to find Anwer.” Agent Rounds stared as the two disappeared down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

 

It seemed strange to be back at the hotel so early. Scully bit her lip while standing in front of her door, but did not open it. It seemed Mulder had similar misgivings, for they met one another's eye before at last swiping the key cards and pushing the handle forward. However, the sight that greeted Agent Scully was  _not_ her by-now familiar hotel room with it's double bed, its dresser and its lounge chair. A long corridor stretched before her, torches flinging shadows away down the passage as they flickered in their sconces. The whole thing looked eery, roped with cobwebs, smelling of damp. “Mulder...could you come here, please?”

“ Sorry, Scully, I'm having an existential crisis at the moment.”

Scully leaned on unsteady feet to see what Mulder was facing; it was not the same as her drafty corridor, instead being a densely wooded jungle, but equally true, it was not his usual room. The Goblin King's voice rang out again, and Scully instinctively tensed, ready for her foe.

“ _I'm pleasing to the eye_

_A tool for many absent of mind_

_A tapestry of fickle lies_

_Blind to even the most pensive spies_

_I'm often the breeder of fervent lust_

_But I am by far one you shouldn't trust_ ”

Just like that, the riddle was over. Mulder and Scully just looked at each other and nodded quietly at the exact same moment. “Appearance.”

“So,” Mulder sighed, canting his head to the right. “Appearances can be deceiving...so this isn't what it seems to be.”

Scully sighed a little, her hand resting on the jamb of the door. “I don't suppose this could have been hastily constructed in the time we were out.” Mulder just cast her a very telling look. Scully shook her head. “Never mind. We can't go through both passages, we don't know how long they'll take. So we'll have to split up.”

“ We make him nervous, Scully. He doesn't like us with our heads put together.”

“ Well, we'll just have to show certain Goblin Kings,” Agent Scully replied with a tilt of her hips, “that you can separate us, but you can't break us down.”

Mulder smiled a little. “It wasn't much of a battle cry, but it's a good start. Oh!” With a sudden thought, the man carefully dug in his pocket, retrieving the old carpenter's nail and holding it out to his partner. “Take this with you, Scully.” Scully raised her red eyebrows and looked from the nail to his hand to his face. Mulder sighed a bit. “Iron is toxic to faeries.”

“ What, and lead from my gun isn't?”

He laughed a little at that. “Just take it.”

If only to humor him, Scully did, rolling her shoulders back and ready to face her trial. “Well?”

“ Well. See you on the other side, Scully.” With one last nod to one another, they crossed the thresholds of the doors – and began.

 

* * *

 

 

It felt like a medieval dungeon in that passageway, Scully decided, pulling the jacket of her suit closer to her body; dark, cold, damp. The kind of place a lord put his enemies to watch them slowly die from the mold and the dark. If that was the Goblin King's plan, he at least had been kind enough to provide the flickering light of the torches in their sconces, and when Scully's fingers threatened to go entirely numb, she would pause to warm her hands by their low fires. There was another niggling feeling inside her mind, something that went beyond sensing discomfort at less-than-ideal conditions; it was the feeling that time itself was distorted in this hallway; she glanced at her watch shortly after she began her trek, and it was eleven thirty, as she would have expected. Sometime later, she checked again, and now it was two thirty, which certainly made her double-take – there was no way she'd been walking for three hours already! Her fears were either confirmed or abolished, she was totally unsure which, when she checked her watch again and saw it flashing ten forty-five. So that was how he was going to play it, huh? Scully grit her teeth and spoke aloud, something to break the unbearable silence of the long hallway. “There must be some kind of magnetic field disrupting my watch.” Strange, she didn't really feel better for having said it to the empty air. She could almost hear Mulder at her ear scolding her about her lack of belief, and the thought actually made her smile a little.

There was one other problem Scully hated to consider: if and when her watch ever did reach the minute between midnight and one...what would become of their bargain then?

Scully had just enough time to become complacent when the wall to her right stretched like putty, forming a screaming face – a clown was morphing out of the very living rock, putty shaped hands reaching for her, howling her name and garbled words. “ _Son of a bitch_ !” Scully drew her weapon on instinct; a bad plan to scare a woman trained in the use of firearms, and she fired at the apparition bending to consume her.

The bullet ricocheted off the wall with an ear shattering “ _clang_ !” and Scully had the presence of mind to dive to the floor for cover as her projectile bounced off the ceiling before smashing into the ground mere inches from her head. The woman worked to slow her breathing, arms tight around her head; that had been stupid. Firing a gun in close quarters, in a rock-lined hallway. It wasn't like these walls were made of clay, where else was that bullet going to go? She was lucky it hadn't come straight back into her chest! 

Wait...clay? Scully picked her head up, still gasping a little with parted red lips, and looked at the wall in front of her. There was a nasty scar where her gun had fired, a blast of powder residue – but no gaping clown maw, no claw hands reaching to drag her into a circus-themed hell. Scully slammed her palm against the wall.  _Appearances can be deceiving_ . She'd walked right into that one. 

Refusing to allow herself to shake or in any way betray any kind of nerves, Scully pulled herself to her feet, mouth set, the picture of a calm, well-trained FBI agent. The Goblin King didn't know who he was tangling with if he thought a few haunted house level spooks could scare her off the trail. If anything, it strengthened her resolve, and it was with strong, measured steps that she kept walking down the endless hallway. “You wanna play?” she muttered to him and to no one under her breath. “Then let's  _play_ , Goblin King. But you're not going to like the game.”

Unconsciously, Scully's left hand drifted to her jacket pocket, her fingers touching on the iron nail sitting there. What was Mulder facing in his own ghostly pathway?

 

* * *

 

 

Mulder shrugged off his suit jacket straight away. Just standing in the doorway he could feel the wet heat of the jungle setting radiating from within. He left the coat on the door handle to his room – he had a feeling he wasn't going to need it for a little while. For that matter, he wisely decided to loosen his tie before taking a cautious step into the rainforest that awaited him.

Right away, the shrieks and cries of monkeys and exotic tropical birds greeted his ears. He could smell jasmine and coffee blossoms, and it would have been quite enchanting if he wasn't also sure he could see a pair of yellow, feline eyes gazing at him hungrily from the dark underbrush. Or maybe they weren't feline at all? Maybe they were goblin eyes, meant to scare him off the path. He wasn't sure why, but that thought comforted him somehow, and he smiled, making his way over fallen logs and creeping vines.

_Should have packed a machete in my luggage_ , Mulder thought to himself with a smile, whistling “Banana Boat” and quietly singing the “Day-o,” lines. It felt like whistling through a graveyard, but these kinds of things had never bothered him. It was just another adventure as far as he was concerned, an adventure that happened to include Goblin Kings.

Goblin Kings. Mulder wiped at the sweat that dribbled down his neck. That was not a twist in the case he had been expecting. He wasn't sure if he'd been initially disappointed that it wasn't extraterrestrial meddling or not; that would have been more familiar to him, and it would have provided another chance to prove the existence of intelligent life in the vastness of space, but rescuing the children would have been even more hopeless than it was now. Mulder scowled at that thought with bitter, personal knowing. He could feel a very familiar pang thinking back to Trent's sobbing over his little sister. Scully had had every right to be angry on the child's behalf. And maybe the Goblin King was correct, maybe the boy had been selfish – but he was a  _child_ . Mulder could hardly blame him for that.

Mulder had to stop and lay his palm against the rough bark of a mango tree, the sweat dripping down his chest and nose. The child Fox had never wanted his sister Samantha to be taken,  _never_ . If that made him more devoted or just different, he didn't know, and at that particular moment, he didn't especially care. But he was never going to give up on hoping that someday, just maybe, he'd find her again. And he didn't want Trent or the other wishing children to give up either. Mulder set his mouth in a firm line, picked his head up, and continued on.

It might have been minutes, it might have been hours that he walked through the oppressive heat of the jungle forest; Mulder could tell time was traveling very differently in this version of space. He didn't bother to check his watch. What he did become aware of, however, was that there was a rumble vibrating through the air – distant at first, but it grew, like the earth itself was growling at him. There was a brief parting between the dense foliage, and that's when Mulder caught sight of the source of the rumble. A massive volcano was reaching up toward the sky, its summit spewing smoke and fire. Mulder could see flaming projectiles being spit from its cone occasionally and grimaced.  _I'm willing to bet this is going to involve another round of fire_ .

Even so, Mulder pressed forward. He wasn't entirely clear on the point of this particular exercise – the riddle had been on appearances, so what was the conclusion he and Scully were supposed to reach? Another crystal? The Goblin King himself? Or would it be Anwer, tied and dangled like a sacrifice to a volcano god to taunt Mulder one last time. No, the agent shook his head, probably not that last one. The Goblin King had already expressed his clear dislike of humanity for how it treated its children, so it seemed unlikely he would put Anwer in any danger. Or was that the point? Appearances could be deceiving, after all. Nothing was as it seemed, Mulder repeated the mantra. It was good to keep in mind when pythons swirled around tree branches, thick as his arms, and tasted the air around him curiously.  _It's not real, it's not real, focus on what_ is  _real_ . Like? Well, himself. That was what he had for a start.

Until one of the volcano's flaming rocks landed in the clearing behind him.

It was like the forest was made of dry kindling and scraps of paper and not huge, damp trees for how it instantly lit up like a rocket on the Fourth of July. “ _Shit_ !” The blast of fire surged toward him, making the already intense heat of the forest nearly unbearable. Instinct ruled him far better than his repeating to not trust his senses, because Mulder took off like a shot anyway, leaping over trees and rocks that obstructed his forward motion. Yet however fast he ran, whatever distance he tried to put between himself and the fire, the blaze drew ever closer – which made absolutely no physical sense, but the world around him was not obeying logic, and neither was his mind. So Mulder ran.

The agent could feel the stitch forming in his side, could feel his muscles start to painfully cramp, and yet somehow the fire grew wider, angrier, hotter,  _closer_ . He could see that from the blurred corners of his vision very clearly. What he could  _not_ see so clearly was the ravine that opened up beneath him like a slashed mouth in the earth, and Mulder pitched forward, straight down its sharp face – and would have kept falling, had he not had the presence of mind to snag his right hand on an outstretched root of tree, wrapping his other hand tightly around a creeping vine and holding on for dear life. Above him there might be fire, but he knew he couldn't hang on forever, and going down into the black unknown was just not a practical course of action. He was trying to figure out a way to haul himself up, despite the fact his feet were not having much luck in finding purchase on the damp cliff, when a white face peered down at him over the edge of the ravine. Mulder's dry mouth opened, his lips parted.

“Hello, Little Fox.” The Goblin King was laying on his stomach on the edge of the cliff, his arms folded beneath him and his chin resting atop those. “You were doing quite well for a while there. I dare say if you had noticed the drop, you might have even won.”

Appearances, appearances... “It's not real!” Mulder shouted. “The fire isn't real, I can let go now and nothing will happen.”

“You  _can_ let go,” the King agreed with a wicked smile. “But I'm afraid  _this_ drop is particularly real.” Mulder's vision swam, his stomach lurched: the jungle that was all around him blurred and wavered for a moment. Just above his fingers, he saw the familiar outline of the hotel room, below him the careless cars of New York streaming along like ants. He wasn't holding on to a jungle vine, he was clinging to the sill of his window for true, dear life. “Still,” the fey was continuing with that terrible, sharp grin. “A for effort, Little Fox.” The flames came up to lick and caress his white form, and it made Mulder's stomach twist nauseously again to see anything so close to being burned. But the Goblin King just smiled, his magic entirely pleasurable to him. “Do you mind if I take dear Dana when you drop, my good man? After all, you weren't making use of her, someone might as well.” When Mulder opened his mouth to no doubt curse his very existence, the King waved him off. “You can rest easy, I'll return her no worse for wear. In fact, I dare say she'll be in much  _better_ condition!”

“Go to hell, Goblin King!” the agent spit, fingers slipping with sweat on the vine – on the stonework of the building? Oh hell, did it even matter?

“Aww, is that a no? Sharing is caring, you know, Little Fox.” Without warning, the thin, claw-like hands of the monstrous fey snaked themselves into Mulder's shirt and hauled him up just slightly, enough to make the man's grip that much more tenuous. “Or should I keep you alive long enough to make you watch? Not me hurting her, dear chap, oh no. You could watch me give her more pleasure than you ever gave any woman in your pathetic little life.” His sharp mouth bent to Mulder's ear, and for a moment, he thought he might actually bite him. “ _I warned you not to trifle with me_ .”

 


	9. Chapter Nine

Scully could see it, she was sure. It was a light at the end of the tunnel. She wasn't out of her mind, she knew it, though she did have an irrepressible shiver at the thought that maybe this was a clue she had died in this tunnel and had never known it. But she couldn't afford to dally and make sure. If she  _was_ dead, fat lot she could do about it now. And if she wasn't, she needed to find Anwer and kick some goblin tail.

Dana Scully was a bold woman. It was boldly she approached that pinprick of light that escaped through a worn, warped wooden door. It was boldly she opened it and crossed the threshold – and breathed deeply.

Fresh air, the warmth of twilight after feeling buried alive in that subterranean tomb. She had no idea where she was, but at that moment, she didn't care – especially because she had found it! Waiting there at her feet, like it was humbled to be presented to her, sat a small, round crystal. Scully couldn't repress a cry of glee when she snatched it up, holding its surface to her cheek for a moment as she took a steadying breath.  _We did it, we did it, we did_ -! 

“Ah, beautiful.” It was the Goblin King's voice. Scully sneered a little to hear him speaking to her. “So near, and yet so far. I hope you enjoyed the game, short as it was. As you no doubt are aware, I'll be keeping little Anwer.”

“What!” Scully snapped at the orb, pulling back and not caring that she was speaking to an inanimate object.

“Are you surprised, dearest Dana? But I warned you, did I not? Appearances can be deceiving. If you're here, you made the wrong choice. I win.”

“I win,” those words were ringing in her brain like a gong. Win, what was he talking about? But she'd made it to the end, she'd understood the riddle, she hadn't let the horrors in the tunnel stop her, she'd found the crystal-

“Oh my God.” She dropped it like a heated coal, stumbling back as the ball fell to the ground and dissolved into a purple mist. The wrong choice – she thought two tunnels meant they had to go separately. But no, it just meant she never should have left Mulder's side. “ _Mulder_ !” She didn't know how much time she had, but she turned anyway, and tore back down the dark passageway faster than she had ever run in her life.

 

* * *

 

 

The Goblin King was laughing. It managed not to be a maniacal cackle, the creature didn't seem to be quite out of his mind, but he  _was_ overcome with his victory. It was a dark, slightly mad chuckle, and it was echoed by dozens, maybe even hundreds of high pitched voices giggling in concert. Yellow eyes opened in the darkness and fixed themselves on Mulder. He could feel his hair standing on end. “I win, I win, I win!” The Goblin King was almost singing, and Mulder watched as above his shoulder, a clock suddenly materialized – a clock with thirteen hours, and the hour hand was past the twelve, and the minute hand was barely two ticks away from reaching the top of the clock. “Oh, Little Fox, don't look like that,” the King soothed in a detestable purr. “I'm not going to let you fall, didn't I already tell you that? I  _need_ you. We made a bargain, remember? You owe me a favor, any favor I want at all. But you  _did_ quite gall me, little chap, you have to admit your manners were positively  _dreadful_ . Forgive me for venting a little petty revenge and extending your suffering until the time officially runs out.”

“What's your favor?” Mulder hissed, feeling the sharp nails of the fey dig into his shoulders as he held him there. “Is it the girl?”

“You have to admit, it's rather perfect. An agent of the federal government? Why would  _he_ lie to her? Why would  _he_ be in the power of the Goblin King? You are useful to me, and you should count your lucky stars and be damned grateful for the fact.”

“Get her yourself!” Mulder started to wiggle. He didn't really care if he dropped – even though he totally  _did_ care if he dropped – but he was willing to do anything to disrupt the Goblin King's sense of power. 

It seemed to raise his ire again, for his strange eyes flashed and he hissed in his ear. “If I  _could_ , do you think I'd be wasting my time here with  _you_ ? She would be in my bed, crying out my name and loving me  _desperately_ . You know, it's almost funny.” The King's humor returned, he smiled just a little with his thin mouth. “You and Agent Scully, you're both far stronger, far smarter, just so much more  _capable_ than she ever was, and yet you could not beat me to save your own skin. Someday, I will find the source of that girl's power, and  _gods_ ,” his eyes closed, “but the satisfaction I will have when I do.”

“I don't care  _what_ your magic is.” Mulder continued to thrash, sweat coating his palms. The faerie's grip did not loosen. “You won't get me to help you. If she said no to you, grow up, deal with it, and get some lotion and your right hand.”

The Goblin King snarled. “You really are a  _vulgar_ little man, aren't you, Little Fox?”

“I don't abduct girls that don't want me.”

“Do you abduct the ones that  _do_ ?  _Stop squirming_ .” Despite his hot anger, the King smiled again, and it was the coldest thing Mulder had ever seen in his thirty two years on the planet. “I know why you hate me, Little Fox...it's because you wish it had been me, don't you? You wish it was  _me_ who stole little Samantha from her bed. Oh, yes, I know,” he grinned as Mulder's mouth fell open. “Then you could turn all your anguish on yourself and me, hate yourself for wishing her away, and at least have the satisfaction of knowing you tried – because you would have tried, wouldn't you, Agent Mulder? Brave big brother would have faced my Labyrinth in a heartbeat, would have rallied through hell itself to get her back.” Purring and chuckling in turns, the fey dipped his head so that his thin lips just grazed the skin of Mulder's ear. “ _And you would have lost_ . Just as you're going to lose...right...n-”

There was a  _“bang_ !” sound. The shadowy voices hissed in shocked, the eyes swiveled to behind their king, who briefly flicked his gaze over his shoulder – and his countenance paled. “Riddle me this, Goblin King.” It was Scully's voice! Mulder couldn't see her, draped as he was over the windowsill, but his entire body strained to catch every word she spoke. “I'm victorious, I'm red-headed, and I'm  _pissed off_ . Who am I?”

The King pulled his lip up in a sneer, turning his face back to Mulder. “Your riddles need a little work, my darling.”

“ _Wrong answer_ .” With no more warning than that, Mulder suddenly saw his partner – saw her as she came into view over the fey's shoulder, her hand raised in a fist – and the nail! The nail pointed out like a murderer's knife. He saw her plunge it downward without hesitation, straight into the meat of the Goblin King's shoulder. Mulder felt his claws tighten on his shoulders so that his nails shredded his shirt and pierced his skin, and the King's howl of pain nearly deafened him. If that wasn't enough, the shadowy goblins were out of their minds, swirling around, shrieking in the chaos and wrapping themselves around their sovereign. Mulder just had time to blink as he saw the man leaning above him melt away in a cascade of silk – and a sudden rain of feathers, as a barn owl with blood at the apex of its left wing appeared instead. With a mournful, shrieking cry, it launched itself off the window and into the night, its flight erratic and its rage evident with every hoarse cry from its sharpened beak.

“Scully!” It was she who had his arms and shoulders now, pulling for all she was worth. “What took you so long, huh?”

“Shut the  _hell_ up, Mulder,” she hissed, her mop of red hair hanging damp and limp in her exhausted eyes. “We're thirteen floors up and I can  _still_ drop you.” He was smiling after that, but wisely silent, and at last his foot found purchase and he was able to kick his way up and back through the window, landing on his back – but in the hotel room, and not in some monstrous jungle. Before he could give her his thanks or inquire after her own hell, there was another sudden cry in the hotel room – but this one was not an owl and not a goblin, but a distinctly human voice; the terrified sobbing of a young boy. Anwer Ahmed. Scully quickly had her arms around the child and pressed him close with her hand on the back of his head. “Anwer, it's alright. I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, we're going to get you home to your family.”

The boy was in the middle of an absolute breakdown, and Mulder could well and truly understand that. He had no idea what the Fiery Forest might be, but he had no doubt it would have been considered sadistic by any adult human standards. “I-I-I-!”

“It's alright, please breathe. Mulder,” Scully's head swiveled to take in her partner, who managed to hide any of his exhausted, tense shaking. “Can you call Rounds and get an ambulance?”

Mulder managed a tight, crooked smile. “You got it, Scully.”

“I was trying to save Yusef!” The child's English was accented, but very sharp and clear, and his deep brown eyes were stung with horrors and with tears. “What will I say to Papa!”

Scully sighed, letting her hands drop to the boy's round face. “There might not be anything you can say, Anwer.”

“But he's still in there! What am I to do!”

Both Anwer and Scully found themselves looking at Mulder, who had collapsed into the arm chair the Goblin King had used last night, the phone cradled on his shoulder. The agent felt his eyes stinging. “You live for the both of you,” was his reply as the other end rang. “And you  _remember_ .” There was a noise on the other end. “Rounds? Get the hell out here. We've got Anwer.”

 

* * *

 

 

The praise and thanks Mulder and Scully had received from an overjoyed Ariq Ahmed was almost in excess – however, as Agent Rounds was technically the primary investigator in this case, he would be receiving most of the credit for the successful rescue of Anwer. Another day and Scully might have had the energy to be mad about it, given all that they had gone through to find the child again. However, since they  _had_ gone through so much, she was willing just to be happy that Anwer was back safe with his family; it wasn't quite the closure for this particular X-File that she would have liked. Courtney Breckinridge and Benedict Pierce were still gone, perhaps never to return – and no one would know but she and Mulder and their respective siblings. It was a bitter pill to swallow, to be so loved yet so easily forgotten.

“They aren't forgotten, Scully,” Mulder assured her, answering the questions she never even had to ask. “ _We_ remember. And we won't be forgetting.” Perhaps that was enough.

The train back to Washington did not depart until the next morning. Given all that they had gone through in the last five days, it was Scully's opinion that the best course of action would be to order a pizza, watch a move in the hotel, and fall asleep by eight thirty. But not Mulder. No, he absolutely  _insisted_ they return to the Century Theater all the way out in Queens – a thirty minute train ride away, it was worth noting – to see the play that was being performed there.

“Mulder, it's a theater, not a baseball stadium. You can't eat sunflower seeds in here.” Luckily it was dark in the tiny theater, its stage about the size of a postage stamp. The audience was enthusiastically applauding the conclusion to “Virginia Woolf,” while the performers made their bows.

“Scully,” he changed the subject around the thunder of clapping. “Did I ever tell you that the nectarine you had tested came back negative for any chemicals?”

Scully rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

Suddenly, her partner was excited. “Look at the girl,” Mulder instructed, pointing out the young woman on the far right. “The one who played Honey.”

“Yeah, I see her.” She had long, dark hair and a pretty kind of smiling face, for certain – but any beauty was truly contained in the sparkle of her eyes. Scully couldn't tell their color from this distance, but they seemed to hold the radiance of her soul in their depths, and it was that which gave her true distinction and strength. A pretty girl indeed. “What about her?”

Mulder was smiling quietly, holding the dogeared playbill he'd rescued from the garbage three nights ago: Sarah Williams, that's what it said next to her head shot, and all the information there matched up with what the FBI database had told him. No criminal record, no military service, no distinctions of any kind.

“Sarah Williams,” the playbill read in its blurb next to her photo, “is a recent graduate of Columbia University's theater program, and is happy to be making her debut with the Century Players. Favorite rolls include Cinderella ( _Into the Woods_ ) and Agnes ( _A Dream Play_ ). All my love to Mom, Dad, Karen and Toby.”

“Mulder,” Scully was shaking his arm. “What about her? God, would you stop eating those seeds?”

“If she's not very careful,” Mulder smirked at his partner around a mouthful of seeds. “I think that's the girl that will end up being the Goblin Queen.”

 

**The End**

 


End file.
